UNIV 


PUKE   SOCIOLOGY 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


£  Creative 

ON  THE  ORIGIN  AND  SPONTANEOUS 
DEVELOPMENT  OF  SOCIETY 


BY 

LESTER   F.   WARD 

HOFE88OR  OF  SOCIOLOGY  IN  BROWN  UNIVERSITY,  AUTHOR  OF 
"DYNAMIC  SOCIOLOGY,"  "THE  PSYCHIC  FACTORS  OF 
CIVILIZATION,"  "OUTLINES  OF  SOCIOLOGY," 
"APPLIED  SOCIOLOGY" 


SECOND  EDITION 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1907 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
BY   THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  January,  1903. 
Reprinted  January,  1907. 


J.  S.  Cushing  &,  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 
TO 

Qfyt  ftfoenttetf)  Centtirg 

ON    THE    FIRST    DAY    OF    WHICH 
IT  WAS  BEGUN 


PREFACE   TO   THE   SECOND  EDITION 

EXACTLY  seven  years  ago,  to  wit,  on  the  first  day  of  the  twentieth 
century,  I  invited  a  small  company  of  the  elite  of  the  National  Capi- 
tal to  meet  me  and  lend  their  valued  counsel  in  considering  the 
scheme  which  I  laid  before  them  for  a  system  of  sociology,  and 
especially  in  advising  me  as  to  the  proper  designation  of  such  a 
system.  The  persons  thus  invited  were :  Major  J.  W.  Powell, 
Director  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey  and  of  the  Bureau 
of  American  Ethnology ;  the  Hon.  David  Jayne  Hill,  Assistant 
Secretary  of  State;  the  Hon.  William  T.  Harris,  United  States 
Commissioner  of  Education ;  the  Hon.  Carroll  D.  Wright,  United ' 
States  Commissioner  of  Labor  and  Superintendent  of  the  Tenth 
Census ;  Dr.  Frank  Baker,  Superintendent  of  the  National  Zoological 
Park ;  Mr.  W.  F.  Willoughby,  now  Treasurer  of  Porto  Eico ;  Mr. 
Edward  T.  Peters  of  the  Department  of  Agriculture ;  Messrs.  David 
Hutcheson  and  Roland  P.  Falkner  of  the  Library  of  Congress ;  Mr. 
Henry  F.  Blount,  manufacturer  and  banker;  and  Miss  Sarah  E. 
Simons,  Head  of  the  English  Department  of  the  Washington  High 
Schools.  After  free  discussion  and  mature  deliberation  it  was 
decided  that  the  system  should  consist  of  two  volumes,  as  far  as 
possible  independent  of  each  other,  the  first  to  be  entitled  Pure 
Sociology  and  the  second  Applied  Sociology,  and  the  title-pages  of 
these  volumes  were  drawn  up. 

Slightly  more  than  two  years  from  that  date,  namely,  on  February 
18,  1903,  the  first  of  these  volumes  appeared,  and  in  a  little  over 
three  years  more,  that  is  to  say,  on  July  2,  1906,  the  second  of  the 
volumes  saw  the  light.  To-day  the  world  is  calling  for  a  second 
edition  of  the  first. 

Although  some  of  the  positions  taken  in  that  work  were  very 
advanced,  and  were  set  forth  rather  as  hypotheses  inviting  criticism 
than  as  established  science,  and  although  these  questions  have  been 
discussed  at  length  by  many  of  the  ablest  writers  of  the  age,  none 


viii  PREFACE  TO  THE   SECOND  EDITION 

of  the  new  theories  advanced  can  be  said  to  have  been  overthrown 
and  many  of  them  have  been  greatly  strengthened.  It  is  therefore 
too  early  at  least  to  undertake  any  extensive  revision  of  the  work. 
Indeed,  as  I  have  often  said,  the  works  of  an  author  constitute  a 
history  of  the  development  of  his  mind  and  even  of  that  of  the  ideas 
themselves,  and  any  attempt  to  revise  them  beyond  the  correction 
of  positive  errors  destroys  the  continuity  of  those  ideas  and  brings 
confusion  into  philosophy.  Who,  for  example,  does  not  regret  that 
Kant  was  compelled  to  revise  his  "  Kritik  der  Keinen  Vernunf t"  ?  and 
who  could  be  satisfied  with  the  revised  editions  alone  ?  The  present 
work  must  therefore  stand  for  the  time  being  substantially  as  it  was 
originally  penned. 

The  purpose  of  this  preface  must,  therefore,  chiefly  be  to  draw 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  system  has  been  completed  as  origi- 
nally outlined,  and  as  the  little  scrap  of  its  history  here  introduced 
was  omitted  in  the  preface  to  the  first  edition,  it  seems  proper  to 
give  it  at  this  time,  not  only  for  the  sake  of  the  history  itself,  per- 
haps of  a  rather  unimportant  event,  but  also  as  an  acknowledgment 
due  from  the  author  to  those  persons  in  whom  he  confided  what  was 
at  the  time,  in  view  of  various  contingencies,  practically  a  secret. 
One  of  those  persons  whose  judgment  was  most  valued  has  passed 
off  the  scene,  but  his  judgment  still  stands  and  is  embodied  in  the 
work,  and  the  author's  sense  of  indebtedness  to  them  all  has  con- 
tinued to  increase. 

If  this  were  the  proper  place,  the  phenomenal  progress  of  sociology 
and  of  the  entire  class  of  ideas  and  public  activities  in  the  field  of 
social  science  and  social  progress  during  the  period  that  has  elapsed 
since  the  conception  of  this  work  might  be  profitably  discussed,  but 
this  is  known  to  all,  and  no  claim  is  made  that  the  system  of  soci- 
ology of  which  it  forms  a  part  is  anything  more  than  a  product  of 
the  Zeitgeist,  although,  like  every  other  such  product,  it  may  have 
exerted  its  normal  reciprocal  influence,  and  may  be  in  some  small 
degree  a  cause  as  well  as  an  effect. 

L.  F.  W. 

BROWN  UNIVERSITY,  PROVIDENCE,  R.I., 
January  1, 1907. 


PREFACE 

I  MAKE  no  claim  to  priority  in  the  use  of  the  term  pure  sociology. 
It  is  but  natural  that  those  who  regard  sociology  as  a  science  should 
divide  the  science,  as  other  sciences  are  divided,  into  the  two  natural 
departments,  pure  and  applied.  But  as  the  term  "  pure  sociology  "  has 
been  freely  used  for  several  years  by  certain  European  sociologists, 
it  seems  proper  to  explain  that  the  matter  for  this  work  has  been 
accumulating  in  my  hands  for  many  years.  I  should  perhaps  rather 
say  that  sociological  material  has  been  long  pouring  in  upon  me, 
and  that  the  first  classification  that  was  made  of  it  was  into  such  as 
related  to  the  origin,  nature,  and  genetic  or  spontaneous  develop- 
ment of  society,  and  such  as  related  to  means  and  methods  for  the 
artificial  improvement  of  social  conditions  on  the  part  of  man  and 
society  as  conscious  and  intelligent  agents.  The  first  of  these  classes 
I  naturally  called  pure  sociology,  the  second,  applied  sociology. 

It  was  upon  my  notes  as  thus  classified  that  in  1897  I  delivered 
two  courses  of  lectures  before  the  Summer  School  of  the  University 
of  Chicago,  one  on  Pure  Sociology  and  the  other  on  Applied  Sociology. 
These  two  courses  of  lectures  under  the  same  titles,  but  with  ever 
increasing  volume  of  data,  I  repeated  in  1898  at  the  University  of 
West  Virginia,  and  in  1899  at  Leland  Stanford  Junior  University. 
I  think  I  can  therefore  justly  claim  the  right,  after  three  years 
more  of  research  along  the  same  lines,  to  give  to  the  work  in  which 
the  first  of  these  classes  of  materials  is  systematically  elaborated 
the  title  of  Pure  Sociology  which  I  have  always  applied  to  that 
class,  and  should  I  succeed  in  systematically  collating  the  materials 
of  the  second  class  and  in  reducing  them  to  a  suitable  form  for 
publication,  I  shall  crave  permission  to  give  to  them  for  like  reasons 
the  title  Applied  Sociology. 

All  the  more  does  it  seem  advisable  to  call  this  work  Pure 
Sociology,  because  the  use  that  is  being  made  of  that  term  by  the 
sociologists  referred  to  is  much  narrower  than  my  conception  of  the 


x  PREFACE 

science,  and  practically  limited  to  the  application  of  mathematics  to 
the  phenomena  of  society.  I  cannot  accept  such  limitations,  but 
must  regard  all  social  phenomena  as  pure  which  are  unaffected  by 
the  purposeful  efforts  of  man  and  of  society  itself.  That  is,  there 
must  be  only  the  two  great  branches  of  the  science,  the  pure  and 
the  applied,  and  pure  sociology  must  be  made  broad  enough  to 
embrace  everything  which  cannot  be  brought  under  applied  soci- 
ology, using  the  term  applied  in  strict  analogy  with  its  use  in  other 
sciences.  Hence  I  have  employed  a  secondary  title :  The  Origin  and 
Spontaneous  Development  of  Society.  I  wish  to  lay  special  empha- 
sis on  the  word  spontaneous  in  this  title,  as  embodying  my  concep- 
tion of  pure  sociology.  Whatever  is  spontaneous  is  pure  in  this 
sense.  Its  two  other  chief  synonyms  are  "genetic"  and  " natural" 
as  opposed  to  "  telic  "  and  "  artificial."  Still,  as  the  telic  faculty  is 
itself  a  genetic  product,  it  cannot  be  omitted  from  a  treatment  of 
pure  sociology,  and,  as  I  have  shown,  its  manifestations  are  in  one 
sense  as  strictly  spontaneous  as  are  those  of  the  dynamic  agent. 

I  will  add  that  the  present  work  is  wholly  independent  of  all 
my  previous  works,  and  is  in  no  sense  a  resume  or  condensation  of 
them.  While  necessarily  some  of  the  same  ground  has  been  trav- 
ersed, this  is  always  done  for  an  entirely  different  purpose  and  the 
subjects  are  viewed  from  a  different  angle  of  vision.  But  the 
greater  part  of  all  that  the  work  contains  is  not  to  be  found  in  my 
other  works  nor  in  any  of  my  previous  writings.  More  vital  still  is 
the  fact  that  the  purpose  and  essential  character  of  the  work  are 
wholly  different  from  those  of  any  of  the  others.  I  am  now  aiming 
at  a  System  of  Sociology,  and  should  the  volume  on  Applied  Soci- 
ology be  written,  the  two  volumes  will  practically  constitute  such  a 
system.  This,  be  it  said,  is  without  prejudice  to  other  systems,  all 
of  which  I  recognize  and  respect,  and  none  of  which  is  at  all  in 
conflict  with  the  system  which  I  prefer  and  adopt. 

L.  F.  W. 

WASHINGTON,  August  22, 1902. 


CONTENTS 


PART   L  — TAXIS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  PURE  SOCIOLOGY         ...  3 

II.     ESTABLISHMENT  OF  THE  SCIENCE 8 

How  science  advances        .        .        .  * 8 

Systems  of  sociology 12 

III.  THE  SUBJECT-MATTER  OF  SOCIOLOGY 15 

IV.  METHODOLOGY 45 

PART   II.  — GENESIS 

V.     FILIATION 65 

Sympodial  development 71 

Creative  synthesis 79 

Creation        . 81 

Social  ideals 83 

The  poetic  idea 84 

Poesis                    .    -• 88 

Genesis 89 

Synthetic  creations  of  nature 92 

VI.     THE  DYNAMIC  AGENT   .         .         . 97 

VII.     BIOLOGIC  ORIGIN  OF  THE  SUBJECTIVE  FACULTIES        .         .         .  Ill 

The  object  of  nature 112 

Origin  of  life 115 

Origin  of  mind 119 

Feeling  in  its  relations  to  function 124 

Feeling  as  an  end       . 126 

Philosophy  of  pleasure  and  pain 129 

Restraints  to  feeling 132 

VIII.     THE  CONATIVE  FACULTY 136 

The  soul 140 

The  will  142 


Xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX.     SOCIAL  MECHANICS 145 

Mathematical  sociology 145 

Social  physics 147 

Psychics 150 

Psychometry 159 

The  law  of  parsimony 161 

Mechanics 163 

Social  energy 165 

X.     SOCIAL  STATICS 169 

Principle  versus  law 169 

Synergy 171 

Cosmic  dualism 172 

Artificial  structures 176 

Organic  structures 178 

Structure  versus  function 180 

Social  structures  . 183 

The  social  order 184 

Human  institutions 185 

Social  assimilation 193 

Social  differentiation 199 

Social  integration 202 

The  struggle  of  races 203 

Conquest  and  subjugation 204 

Social  karyokinesis 205 

Caste 205 

Inequality 206 

Law 206 

Origin  of  the  state 206 

Formation  of  a  people 208 

The  nation 211 

Compound  assimilation 212 

Pacific  assimilation 215 

Postscript 216 

XI.     SOCIAL  DYNAMICS 221 

Social  progress 223 

Social  stagnation 226 

Social  degeneration 227 

•  Social  instability ...  229 

Dynamic  principles 231 

Difference  of  potential 232 

Innovation 240 

Conation 247 

XII.     CLASSIFICATION  OF  THE  SOCIAL  FORCES 266 

XIII.     THE  ONTOGENBTIC  FORCES    .                          266 

Exploitation 267 

Slavery 267 

Labor   .  270 


CONTENTS  xm 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Property 273 

Production .        .        .  278 

Social  distribution 280 

Consumption         .         .        .        .        ...        .         .         .  282 

Pain  and  pleasure  economy 283 

XIV.     THE  PHYLOGENBTIC  FORCES 290 

Reproduction  a  form  of  nutrition 290 

The  androcentric  theory 291 

The  gynsecocentric  theory 296 

History  of  the  theory 297 

The  biological  imperative 302 

Reproduction 304 

Fertilization 307 

Conjugation 310 

Origin  of  the  male  sex 313 

Sexual  selection    . 323 

Male  efflorescence 328 

Primitive  woman 332 

Gynsecocracy 336 

Androcracy  ...                 341 

The  subjection  of  woman 346 

The  family .351 

Marriage 353 

Male  sexual  selection 360 

Woman  in  history         ........  364 

The  future  of  woman 372 

Recapitulation 373 

Classification  of  the  phylogenetic  forces 377 

Natural  love 379 

Romantic  love 390 

Conjugal  love        .........  403 

Maternal  love 412 

Consanguineal  love 415 

XV.     THE  SOCIOGENETIC  FORCES 417 

The  moral  forces 418 

Race  morality 419 

Individual  morality 422 

Ethical  dualism 426 

The  esthetic  forces 431 

The  intellectual  forces 437 

The  sociological  perspective 448 

PAET   III.— TELESIS 

XVI.     THE  DIRECTIVE  AGENT 457 

The  objective  faculties 457 

Control  of  the  dynamic  agent 462 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


The  final  cause 466 

The  method  of  mind 469 

Idea  forces 472 

XVII.     BIOLOGIC  ORIGIN  OF  THE  OBJECTIVE  FACULTIES         .         .         .  475 

Genesis  of  mind .        .        .  475 

Indifferent  sensation 477 

Intuition 477 

Perception 479 

Keason 479 

Indirection 481 

Moral  indirection 483 

Material  indirection 489 

XVIII.     THE  NON-ADVANTAGEOUS  FACULTIES 493 

Origin  of  genius 493 

Inventive  genius 494 

Creative  genius 495 

Philosophic  genius 496 


XIX. 


XX. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  NATURE 
Human  invention 
Scientific  discovery    . 


511 
514 

525 


SOCIALIZATION  OF  ACHIEVEMENT          ......  544 

Socialization 546 

Social  regulation 547 

Legal  regulation 648 

The  state 549 

Collective  achievement 555 

Growth  of  collectivism .  658 

Social  invention 668 

Social  appropriation 572 


INDEX 


577 


PART   I 
TAXIS 


CHAPTER   I 
GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS   OF  PURE  SOCIOLOGY 

THE  terms  pure  and  applied  may  be  used  in  sociology  in  the 
same  sense  as  in  other  sciences.  Pure  science  is  theoretical,  applied 
science  practical.  The  first  seeks  to  establish  the  principles  of  the 
science,  the  second  points  out  their  actual  or  possible  applications. 
It  is  in  this  sense  simply  that  I  shall  use  the  terms.  Whatever 
further  explanation  may  be  necessary  will  be  due  to  the  special 
character  of  sociology  as  a  science. 

The  titles  of  the  chapters,  and  especially  the  names  I  have  given 
to  the  three  parts  into  which  this  work  is  divided,  sufficiently  attest 
the  theoretical  character  of  the  work.  The  first  part  deals  with  the 
order  or  arrangement  of  sociological  data;  the  remainder  of  the 
work  deals  with  their  origin  and  nature,  first  from  the  standpoint 
of  nature,  and  then  from  the  standpoint  of  intelligent  beings. 

In  view  of  the  flood  of  sociological  literature  in  our  time,  not- 
withstanding the  extreme  youth  of  the  science,  it  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous to  hope  to  contribute  anything  absolutely  new.  Even  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  La  Bruyere  thought  that  he  had  come  into 
the  world  too  late  to  produce  anything  new,  that  nature  and  life 
were  preoccupied,  and  that  description  and  sentiment  had  been  long 
exhausted.  And  yet,  throughout  the  eighteenth  century  men  con- 
tinued to  thrash  literary  straw  most  vigorously.  But  although  the 
age  of  literature  as  an  end  has  passed,  and  we  are  living  in  the  age 
of  science,  and  although  in  many  sciences  new  truth  is  being  daily 
brought  to  light,  still,  such  is  the  nature  of  sociology,  that  this  is 
not  true  of  it  unless  we  understand  by  truth,  as  we  certainly  may, 
the  discovery  of  new  relations.  So  far  as  any  other  meaning  of 
truth  is  concerned,  I  have  probably  already  offered  the  most  that  I 
possess,  and  the  chief  task  that  now  confronts  me  is  that  of  endeav- 
oring to  organize  the  facts  of  sociology,  and  to  bring  them  together 
into  something  like  a  system.  I  shall  not  therefore  apologize  for 
the  restatement  of  facts  or  principles,  assuming  that  the  reader  will 

8 


4  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  i 

realize  that  it  is  done  for  a  different  object  from  any  that  I  have 
formerly  had  in  view. 

A  logically  organized  system  of  sociology  thus  necessarily  becomes 
a  philosophy.  Not  that  it  is  a  speculation,  which  would  imply  that 
it  abandoned  the  domain  of  fact,  but  from  the  very  wealth  of  facts 
which  such  a  highly  complex  science  necessarily  inherits  from  the 
entire  series  of  simpler  sciences,  its  proper  treatment  demands  deep 
plunges  into  those  domains  in  order  to  discover  and  trace  out  the 
roots  of  social  phenomena.  The  method  of  pure  science  is  research, 
and  its  object  is  knowledge.  In  pure  sociology  the  essential  nature 
of  society  is  the  object  pursued.  But  nothing  can  be  said  to  be 
known  until  the  antecedent  conditions  are  known,  out  of  which  it 
has  sprung.  Existing  facts  must  be  interpreted  in  the  light  of  past 
processes,  and  developed  products  must  be  explained  through  their 
embryonic  stages  and  phyletic  ancestors.  This  is  as  true  of  social 
structures  as  of  organic  structures.  It  is  this  filiation,  this  his- 
torical development,  this  progressive  evolution,  that  renders  soci- 
ology such  an  all-embracing  field,  and  which  makes  its  proper 
treatment  so  laborious,  and  at  the  same  time  so  interesting.  It  is 
this,  also,  that  brings  contempt  upon  it  when  its  treatment  is 
attempted  by  those  who  are  not  equipped  for  the  task. 

By  pure  sociology,  then,  is  meant  a  treatment  of  the  phenomena 
and  laws  of  society  as  it  is,  an  explanation  of  the  processes  by  which 
social  phenomena  take  place,  a  search  for  the  antecedent  conditions 
by  which  the  observed  facts  have  been  brought  into  existence,  and 
an  setiological  diagnosis  that  shall  reach  back  as  far  as  the  state  of 
human  knowledge  will  permit  into  the  psychologic,  biologic,  and 
cosmic  causes  of  the  existing  social  state  of  man.  But  it  must  be 
a  pure  diagnosis,  and  all  therapeutic  treatment  is  rigidly  excluded. 
All  ethical  considerations,  in  however  wide  a  sense  that  expression 
may  be  understood,  must  be  ignored  for  the  time  being,  and  atten- 
tion concentrated  upon  the  effort  to  determine  what  actually  is. 
Pure  sociology  has  no  concern  with  what  society  ought  to  be,  or 
with  any  social  ideals.  It  confines  itself  strictly  with  the  present 
and  the  past,  allowing  the  future  to  take  care  of  itself.  It  totally 
ignores  the  purpose  of  the  science,  and  aims  at  truth  wholly  for  its 
own  sake. 

A  fortiori  the  pure  method  of  treatment  keeps  aloof  from  all  criti- 
cism and  all  expressions  of  approval,  from  all  praise  or  blame,  as 


CH.  i]     GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  PURE  SOCIOLOGY     5 

wholly  inapplicable  to  that  which  exists  of  necessity.  Augusts 
Comte,  in  one  of  his  early  essays,  1822,  reflects  the  true  spirit  of 
pure  science  in  the  following  words :  — 

Admiration  and  disapprobation  should  be  banished  with  equal  severity 
from  all  positive  science,  since  every  preoccupation  of  this  kind  has  for  its 
direct  and  inevitable  effect  to  impede  or  divert  examination.  Astronomers, 
physicists,  chemists,  and  physiologists  do  not  admire,  neither  do  they  blame, 
their  respective  phenomena  ;  they  observe  them.1 

Gumplowicz  has  put  the  same  thought  into  the  following  form :  — 

Sociology  must  necessarily  abstain  from  criticising  nature.  It  is  only 
interested  in  the  facts  and  their  regular  occurrence.  From  the  sociological 
point  of  view  there  is  no  ground  for  asking  whether  things  could  not  have 
been  other  than  they  are,  or  whether  they  could  not  "have  been  better,  for 
social  phenomena  are  necessarily  derived  from  human  nature  and  the  nature 
of  human  relations.2 

This  strictly  objective  treatment  also  necessitates  the  looking  of 
facts  in  the  face,  however  ugly  they  may  be.  It  is  no  more  the  part 
of  pure  sociology  to  apologize  for  the  facts,  than  to  extol  or  condemn 
them.  Still  less  can  it  afford  to  deny  what  really  exists,  or  attempt 
to  minimize  it  or  explain  it  away,  merely  because  it  is  abhorrent  to 
certain  refined  perceptions  of  highly  developed  races.  Such  a  remark 
may  seem  like  a  truism,  but  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  every 
scientific  truth  which  has  at  first  seemed  repugnant  to  man,  has  had 
to  be  established  against  powerful  opposition,  often  from  eminent 
men  of  science  in  the  domain  to  which  it  belonged,  growing  out  of 
nothing  but  the  wholly  unscientific  aversion  to  admitting  its  possi- 
bility —  the  desire  to  defend  the  race  from  the  supposed  humiliation 
of  such  an  admission. 

Nor  does  this  strict  adherence  to  the  facts  of  nature  involve, 
as  certain  prominent  philosophers  seem  to  suppose,  a  defense  of 
nature's  methods  as  necessarily  the  best  possible,  and  their  com- 
mendation as  patterns  and  models  for  men  to  copy  and  follow.  To 
do  this  is  to  violate  the  canon  of  pure  science :  nil  admirari.  This 
sort  of  scientific  nature-worship,  besides  not  being  really  scientific 
in  its  spirit,  is  pernicious  as  promulgating  a  false  doctrine  that 
applied  sociology  readily  disproves,  but  which,  if  it  becomes  current, 

1  "Plan  des  travaux  scientifiques  necessaires  pour  reorganiser  la  societe."    Re- 
printed as  Appendix  to  Vol.  IV  of  the  "  Systeme  de  Politique  Positive,"  1863,  p.  114. 

2  "  Precis  de  Sociologie,"  Paris,  1896,  p.  222. 


6  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

as  it  seemed  at  one  time  to  be  likely  to  do,  takes  its  place  among 
the  erroneous  Weltanschauungen  that  have  one  after  another  stood 
in  the  path  of  human  progress. 

We  cannot  top  strongly  emphasize  the  paradox  that  pure  science 
really  rests  on  faith.  "  Faith,"  as  Dr.  Starcke  puts  it,  "  that  causa- 
tion is  universal." *  Faith  not  only  that  all  effects  have  causes  but 
also  that  all  causes  have  effects ;  faith  that  whatever  is  is  worthy, 
and  that  whatever  is  worth  being  is  worth  knowing;  and  finally 
faith,  since  this  cannot  be  wholly  suppressed,  that  some  beneficial 
result  will  follow  the  discovery  of  truth.  But  this  faith  need  not 
go  so  far  as  to  become  anthropocentric  and  optimistic,  so  as  to 
divert  the  investigator  from  the  single  pursuit  of  truth  and  carry 
him  off  in  a  vain  search  for  the  supposed  necessary  uses  of  facts  or 
for  strained  analogies  and  imaginary  harmonies. 

Another  reef  to  be  shunned  is  the  notion  that  was  formerly  quite 
prevalent  and  which  is  still  continually  coming  into  view,  that 
science  consists  in  the  discovery  of  facts.  There  is  not  a  single 
science  of  which  this  is  true,  and  a  much  more  nearly  correct  defini- 
tion would  be  that  science  consists  in  reasoning  about  facts.  This 
is  perhaps  best  illustrated  in  geology,  where  the  facts  —  rocks  — 
are  infinitely  older  than  human  history  or  the  human  race,  and 
most  of  them  have  stared  the  world  in  the  face  throughout  all  ages, 
but  were  never  known  till  men  began  to  reason  about  them  and 
interpret  them.  But  the  truth  comes  nearer  home  in  the  more 
practical  sciences  like  physics  and  chemistry.  The  forces  of  nature 
and  the  properties  of  substances  have  always  existed,  but  they  were 
of  comparatively  little  use  until  the  age  of  experimentation  which 
involves  the  closest  reasoning.  The  electricity  that  lights  our 
houses  and  propels  our  cars  was  here  all  the  time,  and  could  just 
as  well  have  been  used  two  thousand  or  four  thousand  years  ago  as 
now,  if  any  one  had  thought  out  and  worked  out  its  true  nature,  as 
has  so  recently  been  done. 

The  term  pure  sociology  has  been  used  considerably  of  late  in  the 
sense  of  regarding  it  as  an  exact  science.  In  this  it  is  usually 
attempted  to  reduce  its  laws  to  mathematical  principles,  to  deduce 
equations  and  draw  curves  expressing  those  laws.  The  best  work 

1  Revue  Internationale  de  Sociologie,  Janvier,  1898,  p.  17.  Compare  also  the 
address  of  Andrew  D.  White  at  the  farewell  banquet  to  Professor  Tyndall,  Pop.  Sci. 
Monthly,  Vol.  II,  April,  1873,  pp.  736-739. 


CH.  i]     GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  PURE  SOCIOLOGY     7 

of  this  kind  has  been  done  in  the  domain  of  economics  by  men  like 
Cournot,  Gossen,  Jevons,  and  Walras,  but  most  of  these  laws  are 
in  a  proper  sense  sociological,  and  have  a  far-reaching  significance 
for  sociology.  I  fully  recognize  the  importance  of  such  studies,  but 
I  shall  only  thus  briefly  mention  them  in  this  chapter,  deferring  the 
full  treatment  of  so  fundamental  a  subject  to  the  chapter  on  Method- 
ology (Chapter  IV),  under  which  head  I  class  it. 


CHAPTER   II 
ESTABLISHMENT   OF   THE   SCIENCE 

I  DO  not  claim  that  sociology  has  as  yet  been  established  as  a 
science.  I  only  maintain  that  it  is  in  process  of  establishment,  and 
this  by  the  same  method  by  which  all  other  sciences  are  established. 
Every  independent  thinker  has  his  system.  It  is  always  based  on 
some  one  leading  idea  or  unitary  principle  which  binds  all  its  parts 
together,  and  this  principle  is  the  chief  matter  with  the  author.  The 
system  constitutes  a  means  of  thoroughly  illustrating  his  ruling 
idea.  This  is  not  only  true  of  sociology  but  of  all  systems  of  phi- 
losophy. This  is  as  it  should  be,  and  illustrates  the  march  of  ideas 
and  the  progress  of  science  in  general. 

How  SCIENCE  ADVANCES 

It  will  be  well  to  pause  a  moment  and  consider  this  question  of 
how  science  advances.  The  progress  of  science  is  no  even  straight- 
forward march.  It  is  in  the  highest  degree  irregular  and  fitful. 
And  yet  there  is  a  certain  method  in  it.  It  is  the  work  of  a  vast 
army  of  workers,  and  each  individual  works  more  or  less  indepen- 
dently. Scarcely  any  two  are  working  at  exactly  the  same  thing, 
and  when  they  are  their  individual  peculiarities,  their  differences  of 
training,  and  their  different  environments  are  certain  to  render  the 
product  different.  The  history  of  scientific  research  in  any  one 
of  the  great  fields  of  investigation  is  an  interesting  subject  for 
analysis.  Even  in  astronomy  there  is  great  diversity,  but  especially 
in  laboratory  research,  as  in  physics,  chemistry,  and  biology,  is  this 
feature  made  prominent.  Whether  it  relates  to  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion, to  the  nature  of  sound,  to  spectrum  analysis,  to  the  different 
kinds  of  rays,  to  the  properties  of  the  various  substances  and  gases, 
to  the  formation  of  chemical  compounds,  including  the  complex 
organic  compounds,  to  the  study  of  protoplasm,  to  the  investigation 
of  cells  and  unicellular  organisms,  to  the  origin  of  tissues  and  their 
distribution  in  the  metazoan  body,  to  the  phenomena  of  reproduc- 


CH.  n]  HOW   SCIENCE   ADVANCES  9 

tion,  or  to  the  nature  and  functions  of  nerves  and  of  the  brain, — 
whatever  the  field  may  be,  the  general  method  of  all  earnest  scien- 
tific research  is  the  same.  Every  investigator  chooses  some  special 
line  and  pushes  his  researches  forward  along  that  line  as  far  as  his 
facilities  and  his  powers  will  permit.  If  he  is  a  master,  he  soon 
exhausts  the  resources  and  appliances  of  the  libraries  and  laborato- 
ries and  proceeds  to  construct  a  technique  of  his  own  for  his  special 
purposes.  He  observes  and  experiments  and  records  the  results. 
Whenever  important  results  are  reached,  he  publishes  them.  He 
not  only  publishes  the  results,  but  he  describes  his  methods.  He 
tells  the  world  not  only  what  he  has  found,  but  how  he  found  it. 

If  the  results  thus  announced  are  at  all  novel  or  startling,  others 
working  along  similar  lines  immediately  take  them  up,  criticise 
them,  and  make  every  effort  to  disprove  them.  Working  under 
somewhat  different  conditions,  with  different  subjects  or  specimens 
and  different  tools,  and  possessing  different  personal  peculiarities  of 
mind  and  character,  some  of  these  rivals  are  certain  to  bring  out 
something  new.  Part  of  the  results  claimed  by  the  first  investi- 
gator will  be  disproved  or  shown  to  bear  a  different  interpretation 
from  that  given  them.  Part  of  them  will  probably  stand  the  fire 
and  after  repeated  verification  be  admitted  by  all.  These  represent 
the  permanent  advance  made  in  that  particular  science.  But  no 
one  investigator  can  establish  anything.  Nothing  is  established 
until  it  has  passed  through  this  ordeal  of  general  criticism  and 
repeated  verification  from  the  most  adverse  points  of  view. 

Now,  each  one  of  the  many  workers  is  doing  the  same  thing  as 
the  one  here  considered,  only  every  one  chooses  a  different  line  and 
pushes  his  researches  out  in  a  different  direction.  Thus  a  thousand 
lines  of  research  are  projected  into  the  unknown  from  every  field  of 
scientific  investigation.  There  is  little  or  no  attempt  to  coordinate 
the  new  facts.  They  have  a  linear  connection  with  the  series  of 
antecedent  facts  pursued  by  each,  but  they  do  not  anastomose,  so 
to  speak,  with  the  similar  lines  run  out  by  others.  Nevertheless, 
ultimately  some  of  the  earlier  proximal  points  that  have  been  veri- 
fied and  established  will  spontaneously  become  associated  and  corre- 
lated, forming  a  sort  of  web  between  the  bases  of  the  lines,  which 
later  become  the  accepted  boundary  of  the  established  science. 
Finally  the  synthetic  mind  comes  forward  and  performs  the 
work  of  coordination,  to  be  followed  by  the  text-book  writer,  who 


10  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

more  or  less  successfully  puts  the  science  in  the  way  of  social 
appropriation. 

Such  is  the  apparently  desultory  and  haphazard,  but  really 
methodical  way  in  which  all  science  advances.  True,  it  is  crude 
and  primitive.  It  is  not  at  all  economical,  but  extremely  wasteful 
in  energy  and  effort.  It  is  a  typical  method  of  nature  as  distin- 
guished from  the  telic  method  or  method  of  foresight  and  intelli- 
gence, but  it  accomplishes  its  purpose  and  has  given  us  all  the 
established  truth  we  possess.  I  have  sometimes  compared  it  to 
the  way  in  which  certain  shore  lines  are  formed  on  coasts  that  are 
slowly  rising,  especially  in  regions  where  a  retreating  ice  sheet  has 
done  its  part  of  the  work.  If  you  will  glance  at  a  map  of  the  west 
coast  of  Scotland,  of  the  east  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  or  of  the  south 
shores  of  Maine,  you  will  understand  this  comparison.  These  shores 
consist  of  innumerable  tongues  of  land  projecting  into  the  sea,  sep- 
arated by  friths  or  inlets  and  wider  bays.  These  inlets  formerly 
extended  much  farther  into  the  land,  but  the  peninsulas  had  then 
only  begun  to  form.  As  the  land  rose,  their  bases,  which  were  then 
much  farther  inland,  gradually  coalesced  to  form  the  main  coast, 
while  the  ridges  between  the  furrows  plowed  by  the  ice  emerged 
from  the  water  in  the  form  of  tongues  such  as  we  now  see.  These 
may  be  conceived  as  being  thrust  out  from  the  shore  something  after 
the  analogy  of  the  lines  of  scientific  research  that  I  have  described, 
uniting  at  their  bases  to  form  a  permanent  domain.  Even  the 
islands,  of  which  there  are  many,  have  their  counterparts  in  those 
isolated  discoveries  of  science,  like  the  Rontgen  rays,  which  seem 
for  a  time  like  islands  in  the  sea  of  the  unknown. 

Another  favorite  comparison  of  mine,  and  one  with  the  subject  of 
which  I  am  personally  more  familiar  than  I  am  with  seacoasts,  is 
with  the  progress  of  a  prairie  fire,  such  as  used  to  sweep  across  the 
mainly  treeless  grassy  plains  of  northern  Iowa.  With  a  front  of 
ten  to  twenty  miles  such  a  fire  would  advance  at  the  rate  of  five  to 
ten  miles  an  hour,  consuming  everything  in  its  way.  But  the  line 
of  flame,  which  could  be  distinctly  traced,  especially  in  the  night,  to 
a  great  distance  by  the  eye,  was  never  straight,  but  in  consequence 
of  certain  checks  at  one  point  and  specially  favorable  conditions  at 
another,  it  would  present  great  irregularities.  Long  tongues  of 
fire  would  be  seen  projecting  far  in  advance  of  the  main  line,  leav- 
ing narrow  unburned  tracts  between  them,  and  every  other  conceiv- 


CH.  n]  HOW   SCIENCE   ADVANCES  11 

f> 

able  form  of  indentation  and  irregularity  would  mark  the  boundary 
of  the  advancing  conflagration.  In  fact  this  would  have  a  great 
resemblance  to  the  coasts  I  have  referred  to.  Occasional  sparks 
carried  far  in  advance  by  the  high  wind  which  the  fire  alone  was 
capable  of  generating,  would  ignite  the  grass  some  distance  from 
the  point  from  which  it  emanated,  and  temporary  islands  would  be 
quickly  created.  But  if  any  one  spot  be  watched,  all  these  separate 
projections  would  be  seen  soon  to  join  and  the  wider  sinuses  to  be 
swept  along  until  the  whole  area  in  question  was  completely  con- 
sumed and  the  same  scene  of  operations  transferred  to  a  point  far 
in  advance  where  the  same  process  was  being  repeated,  and  so  on 
indefinitely.  The  whole  country  behind  these  rapidly  advancing 
scenes  would  be  black,  the  devouring  flames  not  being  prevented  by 
any  of  their  erratic  performances  from  ultimately  compassing  their 
design.  We  thus  have  a  kinetographic  representation,  as  it  were, 
of  the  general  method  of  nature  in  the  march  of  evolution,  the  differ- 
ence between  this  and  the  previous  illustration  being  that  while 
this  goes  on  before  the  eyes  almost  more  rapidly  than  it  can  be 
described,  the  other  is  a  slow  secular  process  that  cannot  be  observed 
in  operation,  but  can  only  be  interpreted  by  the  geologist  from  the 
facts  that  he  can  see  and  recognize  as  having  themselves  recorded 
their  own  history. 

The  progress  of  discovery,  of  science,  and  of  knowledge  and  truth 
in  the  world  generally,  follows  this  same  method,  whatever  depart- 
ment we  may  examine.  The  effect  of  it  is  to  give  the  impression 
during  the  early  stages  in  the  history  of  any  science,  that  all  is 
chaos,  and  that  no  real  progress  is  being  made.  Every  one  is  mak- 
ing claims  for  his  own  results  and  denying  those  of  all  others,  so 
that  the  mere  looker-on  and  the  public  at  large  are  led  to  doubt  that 
anything  is  being  accomplished.  They  see  only  the  main  land  of 
established  truth  and  deny  that  the  sea  bottom  is  rising  and  that 
the  promontories  and  islands  are  being  united  to  the  continent. 
Like  the  Indians  of  the  Pacific  slope  who  admitted  that  the  grass 
grew,  but  denied  that  the  great  Sequoias  had  ever  been  other  than 
they  are,  the  world  perceives  the  movement  of  events  on  the  surface 
cf  society  —  political,  economic,  industrial  —  but  denies  that  there  is 
a  great  social  movement  which  is  becoming  slowly  crystallized  into 
a  science. 

Just  at  present  we  are  in  that  initial  stage  in  sociology,  in  which 


12  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

a  great  army  of  really  honest  and  earnest  workers  is  wholly  without 
organization  —  an  army,  it  might  be  called,  all  the  members  of  which 
are  officers  having  the  same  rank,  and  none  subject  to  the  commands 
of  any  other.  Each  one  is  pursuing  the  one  particular  line  that  he 
has  chosen.  Nearly  every  one  has  some  one  single  thought  which 
he  believes  to  embrace,  when  seen  as  he  sees  it,  the  whole  field  of 
sociology,  and  he  is  elaborating  that  idea  to  the  utmost.  Now,  it  is 
clear  that  he  will  make  much  more  of  that  idea  than  any  one  else 
could  make.  He  will  get  all  the  truth  out  of  it  that  it  contains. 
It  is  true  that  he  will  carry  it  too  far  and  weight  it  down  with 
implications  that  it  will  not  bear;  but  these  are,  like  the  errors  of 
all  scientific  investigators,  subject  to  universal  criticism  and  ultimate 
rejection  by  putting  the  real  truth  in  their  place. 

The  notion  has  always  been  prevalent  that  men  of  one  idea  are 
useless  or  worse  than  useless.  The  fact  is  that  they  are  the  most 
useful  of  all  men.  I  do  not  refer  to  such  as  are  afflicted  with  the 
pathological  idee  fixe,  but  to  those  who  are,  as  it  were,  possessed  and 
consumed  by  some  single  thought,  some  favorite  hypothesis,  some 
heuristic  conception,  which  grows  larger  and  more  all-comprehen- 
sive, until  it  impels  them  to  pursue  it  untiringly  to  its  last  logical 
conclusion  and  to  work  into  it  great  fields  of  truth  that  no  name 
that  can  be  given  it  would  even  suggest  to  any  one  else.  Work  done 
under  such  an  inspiration  is  thoroughly  done.  The  analysis  is  ex- 
haustive, and  it  never  fails,  notwithstanding  the  necessary  error  and 
exaggeration,  to  constitute  a  substantial  contribution  to  the  general 
stock  of  human  knowledge  and  to  the  true  progress  of  science. 

SYSTEMS  OF  SOCIOLOGY 

All  sciences  pass  through  a  long  analytic  period  before  reaching 
the  synthetic  stage.  Sociology  is  still  in  its  analytic  period.  There 
is  even  a  disposition  to  condemn  all  attempts  at  synthesis.  No  one 
will  recognize  anything  done  by  others.  There  is  a  spirit  of  intense 
individualism.  There  is  no  disposition  to  appropriate  the  truth  that 
is  being  produced.  The  ideas  that  are  put  forth  seem  to  have  no 
affinity  for  one  another.  On  the  contrary  they  are  mutually  repel- 
lent. There  is  little  real  controversy  because  every  one  regards  all 
other  ideas  as  quite  unworthy  of  attention.  There  is  therefore  no 
discussion,  and  the  necessary  prelude  to  coordination  is  discussion. 


CH.  n]  SYSTEMS   OF   SOCIOLOGY  13 

When  different  writers  shall  begin  to  discuss  one  another's  ideas 
there  will  be  some  hope  of  an  ultimate  basis  being  found  for  agree- 
ment, however  narrow  that  basis  may  be. 

In  this  perfectly  independent  way  a  large  number  of  what  may  be 
called  systems  of  sociology  are  being  built  up,  most  of  which  are 
regarded  by  their  authors  as  complete,  and  as  superseding  all  other 
systems.  Any  attempt  adequately  to  present  all  these  systems  to 
the  reader  would  require  a  volume  instead  of  a  chapter.  This  has, 
however,  already  been  done  in  great  part  and  ably  by  Professor  Paul 
Barth l  in  the  introduction  to  a  work  whose  title  indicates  that  he 
has  himself  a  system,  but  who  differs  from  most  of  his  contem- 
poraries in  not  only  respecting  but  also  in  understanding  other 
systems. 

1  also   undertook  an  enumeration  of   the   principal  systems  of 
sociology  from  my  own  special  point  of  view,  which  was  originally 
intended  to  be  embodied  in  this  chapter,  but  the  treatment  of  a 
dozen  of  these,  brief  though  it  had  to  be,  attained  so  great  volume 
that  I  decided  to  publish  it  separately 2  and  content  myself  with 
this  reference  to  it,  should  any  desire  to  consult  it.     This  I  can  do 
the  better  as  the  present  work  cannot  be  historical,  and  as  there  is 
certainly  enough  to  be  said  in  illustration  of  my  own  "  system " 
without  devoting  space  to  the  consideration  of  those  of  others.     But 
each  of  these  twelve   leading   sociological   conceptions   or  unitary 
principles  has  been  put  forward  with  large  claims  to  being  in  and  of 
itself  the  science  of  sociology.     The  ones  selected  for  treatment  in 
the  papers  referred  to  were  considered  as  embodying  in  each  case 
the  idea  entertained  by  the  principal  defender  or  expounder  of  the 
principle,  or  by  the  group  of  persons  advocating  it  and  thus  consti- 
tuting in  each  case  a  sort  of  school,  of  what  constitutes  the  science. 
The  principles  were  therefore  preceded  by  the  expression  "  Sociology 
as  "  in  analogy  to  Professor  Earth's  title :  "  Sociology  as  the  Phi- 
losophy of  History."      Thus  designated,  these  unitary  principles, 
forming  the  basis  of  so  many  systems  or  schools  of  sociology,  were 
the  following :  — 

1 "  Die  Philosophie  der  Geschichte  als  Sociologie."  Erster  Theil  :  Einleitung  und 
kritische  Uebersicht,  Leipzig,  1897. 

2  "  Contemporary  Sociology."   American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  VII,  Chicago, 
1902,  No.  4,  January,  pp.  475-500  ;  No.  5,  March,  pp.  629-658 ;  No.  6,  May,  pp.  749- 
762.    Reprinted  as  brochure,  Chicago,  1902,  pp.  70. 


14  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

Sociology  as :  — 

I.  Philanthropy. 

II.  Anthropology. 

III.  Biology  (the  organic  theory). 

IV.  Political  Economy. 

V.  Philosophy  of  History. 

VI.  The  Special  Social  Sciences. 

VII.  The  Description  of  Social  Facts. 

VIII.  Association. 

IX.  The  Division  of  Labor. 

X.  Imitation. 

XI.  Unconscious  Social  Constraint. 

XII.  The  Struggle  of  Races. 

There  are  of  course  others,  but  these  may  be  taken  at  least  as 
typical  examples  if  not  as  the  principal  ones  now  confronting  the 
student  of  sociology.  -Any  one  of  these  views  might  be,  and  most 
of  them  have  been,  set  forth  in  such  a  form  that,  considered  alone, 
it  would  seem  to  justify  the  claim  set  up.  This  enumeration  is  cal- 
culated to  afford  to  the  unbiased  mind  something  like  an  adequate 
conception  of  the  scope  of  sociology,  for  no  single  one  of  these  con- 
ceptions is  to  be  rejected.  All  are  legitimate  parts  of  the  science, 
and  there  are  many  more  equally  weighty  that  remain  as  yet  more 
or  less  unperceived.  A  comprehensive  view  of  them  will  also  illus- 
trate the  law  set  forth  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  relating  to 
the  manner  in  which  not  only  social  science  but  all  science  advances. 
To  change  the  figure  there  used,  all  these  various  lines,  together 
with  all  others  that  have  been  or  shall  be  followed  out,  may  be  com- 
pared to  so  many  minor  streams,  all  tending  in  a  given  direction  and 
converging  so  as  ultimately  to  unite  in  one  great  river  that  repre- 
sents the  whole  science  of  sociology  as  it  will  be  finally  established. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY 

THE  reader  will  probably  say,  after  reading  this  chapter,  that  I 
have  added  another  to  the  dozen  systems  of  sociology  enumerated  in 
Chapter  II.  I  shall  not  demur  to  this.  But  he  will  remember  that 
I  have  not  disparaged  the  multiplications  of  systems,  provided  they 
are  based  on  a  real  idea.  It  is  the  only  way  in  which  the  science 
can  advance,  and  the  more  ideas  thus  exhaustively  worked  out,  the 
broader  and  richer  the  science  will  become.  The  conceptions  thus 
marshaled  are  sufficiently  dissimilar  and  varied,  but  I  think  it  will 
be  admitted  that  the  additional  one  now  to  be  set  forth  is  different 
still  from  any  of  them,  and  as  unlike  them  as  they  are  unlike  one 
another. 

My  thesis  is  that  the  subject-matter  of  sociology  is  human  achieve- 
ment. It  is  not  what  men  are,  but  what  they  do.  It  is  not  the 
structure,  but  the  function.  Sociologists  are  nearly  all  working  in 
the  department  of  social  anatomy,  when  they  should  turn  their  atten- 
tion to  social  physiology.  Most  of  them  have  imbibed  the  false 
notion  that  physiology  is  dynamic,  and  is  in  some  way  connected 
with  social  progress.  They  scarcely  dare  inquire  what  social  physi- 
ology is,  for  fear  that  it  may  involve  them  in  questions  of  social 
reform.  But  physiology  is  merely  function.  It  is  what  structures 
and  organs  do,  what  they  were  made  to  do,  the  only  purpose  they 
have.  Structures  and  organs  are  only  means.  Function  is  the  end. 
It  is  therefore  easy  to  see  how  much  more  important  physiology  is 
than  anatomy.  The  latter  is,  of  course,  a  necessary  study,  since 
functions  cannot  be  performed  without  organs  ;  but  it  is  in  the  nature 
of  preparation,  and  can  be  relegated  to  one  or  other  of  the  special 
social  sciences,  which,  as  I  have  shown,  supply  the  data  for  the  study 
of  sociology.  The  principal  sources  of  such  data  are  history,  demog- 
raphy, anthropology,  psychology,  biology,  civics,  and  economics ;  but 
all  the  sciences  contribute  to  that  highest  science,  social  physiology. 

15 


16  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

To  be  less  technical,  but  really  repeat  the  same  thing,  sociology  is 
concerned  with  social  activities.  It  is  a  study  of  action,  i.e.,  of  phe- 
nomena. It  is  not  a  descriptive  science  in  the  naturalist's  sense  — 
a  science  that  describes  objects  looked  upon  as  finished  products. 
It  is  rather  a  study  of  how  the  various  social  products  have  been 
created.  These  products  once  formed  become  permanent.  They 
are  never  lost.  They  may  be  slowly  modified  and  perfected,  but 
they  constitute  the  basis  for  new  products,  and  so  on  indefinitely. 
Viewed  from  the  evolutionary  standpoint,  the  highest  types  of  men 
stand  on  an  elevated  platform  which  man  and  nature  working  to- 
gether have  erected  in  the  long  course  of  ages.  This  is  not  only 
true  of  our  time,  but  it  has  been  true  of  all  times.  The  most  ad- 
vanced of  any  age  stand  on  the  shoulders,  as  it  were,  of  those  of  the 
preceding  age ;  only  with  each  succeeding  age  the  platform  is  raised 
a  degree  higher.  The  platforms  of  previous  ages  become  the  steps 
in  the  great  staircase  of  civilization,  and  these  steps  remain  unmoved, 
and  are  perpetuated  by  human  history. 

Or,  to  change  the  figure,  the  human  polyp  is  perpetually  building 
a  coral  reef,  on  the  upper  surface  of  which  the  last  generation  lives 
and  builds.  The  generations  live  and  die,  but  they  leave  behind 
them  the  result  of  all  that  they  accomplished  when  living.  This 
result  is  a  permanent  part  of  the  great  ocean  bed  of  human  achieve- 
ment. As  time  goes  on  these  successive  additions,  superimposed  the 
one  upon  the  other,  form  the  bed-rock  of  civilization.  They  become 
lithified,  as  it  were,  and  constitute  the  strata  of  the  psychozoic  age 
of  the  world,  through  which  the  true  historian,  like  the  geologist, 
cuts  his  sections  and  lays  bare  in  profile  the  successive  stages  of 
human  culture. 

It  is  this  fact  of  permanent  human  achievement  that  makes 
the  broad  distinction  between  animal  and  human  societies.  Just 
as  there  -is  a  radical  difference  between  cosmic  and  organic  evolu- 
tion,1 so  there  is  a  radical  difference  between  organic  and  social 
evolution.  The^fprmula  that  expresses  this  distinction  the  most 
clearly  is_that_  the  environment  transforms  the  animal,  while  man 
transforms  the,  environment.  Now  it  is  exactly  this  transformation 

1  I  brought  out  this  distinction  as  long  ago  as  1877  in  an  article  on  "  Cosmic  and 
Organic  Evolution,"  in  the  Popular  Science  Monthly  for  October,  1877,  Vol.  XI,  pp. 
<>72-(>82,  in  which  I  showed  that  even  Mr.  Spencer  had  ignored  it  in  his  profound 
analysis  of  the  laws  of  the  redistribution  of  matter. 


CH.  m]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  17 

of  the  environment  that  constitutes  achievement.  The  animal 
achieves  nothing.  The  organic  world  is  passive.  It  is  acted 
upon  by  the  environment  and  adapted  to  it.  And  although  it 
is  true  that  in  the  structural  modifications  that  constitute  such 
adaptation  the  efforts  and  activities  of  the  organism  play  a  promi- 
nent part,  still  even  this  is  only  a  reflex  response  to  the  pressure 
from  without,  and  really  constitutes  a  part  of  the  environment. 
Man,  on  the  contrary,  as  a  psychically  developed  being,  and  in 
increasing  degrees  in  proportion  to  his  psychic  development, 
is  active  and  assumes  the  initiative,  molding  nature  to  his  own 
use. 

There  has  been  no  important  organic  change  in  man  during  the 
historic  period.  The  trifling  physical  differences  which  we  attribute 
to  differences  of  environment  acting  on  man  during  a  century  or  two, 
would  have  no  diagnostic  value  in  biology.  He  is  no  more  fleet  of 
foot,  keen  of  vision,  or  strong  in  muscle  and  tendon  than  he  was 
when  Herodotus  wrote.  Yet  his  power  of  vision  has  been  enormously 
increased  by  all  the  applications  of  the  lens,  his  power  of  locomotion 
has  been  multiplied  by  the  invention  of  propelling  machines,  and  his 
strength  has  become  almost  unlimited  by  calling  the  forces  of  nature 
to  his  assistance.  Tools  are  vastly  more  effective  than  teeth  or  claws. 
The  telescope  and  the  microscope  completely  dwarf  all  natural  organs 
of  sight.  Eailroads  are  fair  substitutes  for  wings,  and  steamships 
for  fins.  In  the  electric  transmission  of  thought  across  continents 
and  seas  he  has  developed  an  organ  of  which  no  animal  possesses  a 
rudiment.  Yet  all  this  is  less  practically  useful  than  the  increased 
means  of  production  that  have  resulted  from  a  long  series  of  inven- 
tions. It  is  all  the  result  of  man's  power  to  transform  the  environ- 
ment. The  artificial  modification  of  natural  phenomena  is  the  great 
characteristic  fact  in  human  activity.  It  is  what  constitutes  achieve- 
ment. No  animal  is  capable  of  it.  Some  superficial  observers  seem 
to  see  in  the  nests  of  birds,  the  dams  of  beavers,  the  honeycomb  of 
bees,  and  the  various  more  or  less  complicated  habitations  of  certain 
rodents  and  other  animals,  an  analogy  to  the  achievements  of  man. 
But  these  all  lack  the  essential  element  of  permanence.  They  cannot 
be  called  artificial,  and  it  is  their  artificial  character  that  distin- 
guishes the  results  of  human  activity.  The  principle  here  involved 
will  be  dealt  with  in  Chapter  XVII. 

It  is  necessary  to  inquire  here  what  in  reality  constitutes  civil iza- 


18  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  i 

tion.  We  have  not  in  the  English  language  the  same  distinction 
between  civilization  and  culture  that  exists  in  the  German  language. 
Certain  ethnologists  affect  to  make  the  distinction,  but  they  are  not 
understood  by  the  public.  The  German  expression  Ktilturgeschichte 
is  nearly  equivalent  to  the  English  expression  history  of  civilization. 
Yet  they  are  not  synonymous,  since  the  German  term  is  confined  to 
the  material  conditions,  while  the  English  expression  may  and  usually 
does  include  psychic,  moral,  and  spiritual  phenomena.  To  translate 
the  German  Kultur  we  are  obliged  to  say  material  civilization. 
Culture  in  English  has  come  to  mean  something  entirely  different, 
corresponding  to  the  humanities.  But  Kultur  also  relates  to  the 
arts  of  savages  and  barbaric  peoples,  which  are  not  included  in  any 
use  of  civilization,  since  that  term  in  itself  denotes  a  stage  of  advance- 
ment higher  than  savagery  or  barbarism.  These  stages  are  even 
popularly  known  as  stages  of  culture,  where  the  word  culture  becomes 
nearly  synonymous  with  the  German  Kultur. 

To  repeat  again  the  definition  that  I  formulated  twenty  years  ago : 
material  civilization  consists  in  the  utilization  of  the  materials  and  forces 
of  nature.  It  is,  however,  becoming  more  and  more  apparent  that 
the  spiritual  part  of  civilization  is  at  least  conditioned  upon  material 
civilization.  It  does  not  derogate  from  its  worth  to  admit  that 
without  a  material  basis  it  cannot  exist.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the 
moment  such  a  basis  is  supplied,  it  comes  forth  in  all  ages  and  races 
of  men.  It  may  therefore  be  regarded  as  innate  in  man  and  potential 
everywhere,  but  a  flower  so  delicate  that  it  can  only  bloom  in  the 
rich  soil  of  material  prosperity.  As  such  it  does  not  need  to  be 
specially  fostered.  No  amount  of  care  devoted  to  it  alone  could 
make  it  flourish  in  the  absence  of  suitable  conditions,  and  with  such 
conditions  it  requires  no  special  attention.  It  may  therefore  be  dis- 
missed from  our  considerations,  and  our  interest  may  be  centered  in 
the  question  of  material  civilization,  and  this  will  be  understood 
without  the  use  of  the  adjective. 

As  examples  of  the  forces  that  are  utilized  in  civilization,  stated 
in  something  like  the  historical  order  of  their  use,  maybe  mentioned 
heat,  light,  gravitation,  wind,  water,  steam,  and  electricity.  The 
value  of  water  as  a  power  is  in  its  weight,  so  that  this  is  only  one  of 
the  many  applications  of  gravitation.  More  difficult  to  class,  but 
perhaps  earlier  than  any  other,  is  the  power  of  inertia  in  ponderable 
matter  by  which,  even  in  the  clnb,  it  is  made  to  increase  the  efficiency 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  19 

of  the  unaided  hands.  Still  more  subtle,  but  immensely  effective,  is 
the  use  of  the  principle  of  the  lever  and  fulcrum,  by  which  effects 
are  rendered  vastly  greater  than  the  muscular  force  exerted.  These 
are  only  a  few  of  the  most  obvious  of  nature's  powers  which  man 
learned  to  profit  by.  Of  materials  or  substances,  the  simplest  were 
wood,  clay,  stone,  and  the  metals  as  fast  as  means  were  discovered 
of  separating  them  from  their  ores.  The  reason  why  bronze  (copper) 
antedates  iron  is  that  it  more  frequently  occurs  in  a  pure  state,  for 
it  is  much  less  abundant.  Aluminum,  perhaps  the  most  abundant  of 
all  metals,  was  among  the  last  to  be  utilized,  solely  because  so  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  in  a  pure  state.  After  these  came  the  multitudinous 
chemical  substances,  elementary  and  composite,  that  are  now  applied 
to  innumerable  uses. 

The  distinction,  however,  between  materials  and  forces  dis- 
appears entirely  upon  analysis.  It  is  no  longer  metaphysical  to 
say  that  we  know  nothing  of  matter  except  through  its  properties. 
It  is  only  its  reactions  that  affect  man's  senses,  only  its  properties 
that  are  utilized.  But  no  line  of  demarcation  can  be  drawn  between 
the  properties  of  matter  and  physical  forces.  Properties  are  forces 
and  forces  are  properties.  At  bottom,  it  is  simply  activities  with 
which  we  have  to  do.  It  is  now  known  that  all  matter  is  active, 
and  the  only  difference  between  substances  is  the  different  ways  in 
which  they  act.  Of  course  these  differences  in  activity  are  due  to 
corresponding  differences  in  constitution,  but  this  need  not  concern 
us.  But  if  matter  is  only  known  by  ite  properties,  and  the  proper- 
ties of  matter  are  forces,  it  follows  that  matter  possesses  inherent 
powers.  Schopenhauer  was  right  when  he  said :  "  Die  Materie  ist 
durch  und  durch  Causalitat." 1  Matter  is  causality.  Matter  is 
power.  Saint  Simon  had  this  idea  in  his  apotheosis  of  indus- 
try and  the  importance  of  devoting  energy  to  material  things. 
Guyot  has  attempted  to  reduce  it  to  a  simple  formula.  In  his 
"Principles  of  Social  Economy"  he  expresses  it  in  the  following 
form :  "Economic  progress  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  action  of  man  on 
things."2 

In  an  article  of  later  date  he  expanded  and  completed  his  formula 
as  follows :  — 

1  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  3d  edition,  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  II,  Table 
of  "  Praedicabilia  a  priori  "  to  p.  55,  first  page,  3d  column. 

2  "  Principles  of  Social  Economy,"  by  Yves  Guyot.    Translated  from  the  French 
by  C.  H.  d'Eyncourt  Leppington.    Second  edition,  London,  1892,  p.  298. 


20  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

Progress  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  action  of  man  on  things,  and  in  inverse 
ratio  to  the  coercive  action  of  man  on  man.1 

Matter  is  dynamic,  and  every  time  that  man  has  touched  it  with 
the  wand  of  reason  it  has  responded  by  satisfying  a  want.  This  is 
the  true  philosophical  basis  of  that  "  historical  materialism "  of 
which  we  hear  so  much  in  these  days.  Its  defenders  dimly  perceive 
the  principle,  but  are  unable  to  formulate  it,  being  engrossed  by 
surface  considerations.  It  is  this,  too,  that  is  meant  when  it  is 
asserted  that  material  civilization  tends  in  the  long  run  to  ameliorate 
the  condition  of  man.  This  is  denied  by  some,  but  most  men,  I 
think,  feel  that  it  is  so,  although  they  might  not  know  how  to 
demonstrate  it. 

Civilization  may  be  regarded  either  as  an  unconscious  or  as  a 
conscious  process,  according  to  the  point  of  view.  The  efforts  and 
activities  that  have  raised  man  from  round  to  round  of  the  ladder 
may  be  looked  upon  as  the  results  of  the  inherent  forces  of  his 
nature,  and  hence  unconscious  and  cosmic.  Or,  the  civilizing  acts 
of  men  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  results  of  will,  ideas,  and  intelli- 
gent aspirations  for  excellence,  and  hence  conscious  and  personal. 
The  first  of  these  view-points  has  been  erected  into  a  science,  and  is 
sometimes  appropriately  called  mesology.  Human  history  thus 
becomes  a  simple  extension  of  natural  history.  This  is  regarded 
as  the  scientific  view  par  excellence.  It  is,  however,  mainly  true  that 
man  has  risen  by  dint  of  his  own  efforts  and  activities.  The  nature 
of  human  progress  has  been  the  theme  of  much  discussion,  and  the 
extreme  scientific  view  seems  to  negative  not  only  all  praise  or 
blame  but  all  hope  of  success  on  the  part  of  man  himself  in  trying 
to  accelerate  his  advancement  or  improve  his  condition.  The  very 
law  of  evolution  threatens  to  destroy  hope  and  paralyze  effort. 
Science  applied  to  man  becomes  a  gospel  of  inaction.  But  whether 
we  are  hero-worshipers  or  believers  in  the  blind  forces  of  evolution^ 
we  must  admit  that  the  truly  great  are  the  necessary  instruments 
by  which  human  progress  is  accomplished,  and  such  progress  with- 
out their  intervention  is  inconceivable.  But  we  are  told  that  these 


1  Le  progres  est  en  raison  directe  de  1'action  de  1'homme  sur  les  choses  et  en  raison 
inverse  de  1'action  coercitive  de  1'homme  sur  1'homme.  Journal  desteonomistes,  58* 
anne'e,  5'  se'rie,  tome  XL  (Octobre  a  Decembre  1899),  15  Decembre,  1899,  p.  332,  being 
the  concluding  words  of  an  article  entitled:  "  Le  Crite'rium  du  Progres,"  par  Yves 
Guyot,  pp.  321-332. 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  21 

human  instruments  of  progress  are  themselves  products  of  ante- 
cedent causes  which  could  result  in  nothing  else.  Ergo,  laissez  faire. 
The  fallacy  of  this  reasoning  has  been  hard  to  point  cmt.  I  have 
finally  satisfied  myself  that  it  belongs  to  the  class  of  "  fool's  puzzles," 
like  Zeno's  proof  of  the  impossibility  of  motion,  or  the  feat  of  the 
woman  of  Ephesus  who  carried  her  calf  each  day  from  the  time  of 
its  birth  till  it  became  an  ox.  I  have  frequently  stated  the  problem 
in  my  own  way,  usually  giving  the  argument  the  name  of  the 
"  gospel  of  action,"  and  Professor  Huxley,  a  short  time  before  his 
death,  seems  to  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  principle.1  But  per- 
haps the  best  statement  of  the  case  that  has  yet  been  made  is  that 
of  Mr.  John  Morley  in  his  essay  on  "  Compromise."  He  says  :  — 

It  would  be  odd  if  the  theory  which  makes  progress  depend  on  modifica- 
tion, forbade  us  to  attempt  to  modify.  When  it  is  said  that  the  various 
successive  changes  in  thought  and  institution  present  and  consummate  them- 
selves spontaneously,  no  one  means  by  spontaneity  that  they  come  to  pass 
independently  of  human  effort  and  volition.  On  the  contrary,  this  energy 
of  the  members  of  society  is  one  of  the  spontaneous  elements.  It  is  quite 
as  indispensable  as  any  other  of  them,  if,  indeed,  it  be  not  more  so.  Prog- 
ress depends  upon  tendencies  and  forces  in  a  community.  But  of  these 
tendencies  and  forces  the  organs  and  representatives  must  plainly  be  found 
among  the  men  and  women  of  the  community,  and  cannot  possibly  be 
found  anywhere  else.  Progress  is  not  automatic,  in  the  sense  that  if  we 
were  all  to  be  cast  into  a  deep  slumber  for  the  space  of  a  generation,  we 
should  arouse  to  find  ourselves  in  a  greatly  improved  social  state.  The 
world  only  grows  better,  even  in  the  moderate  degree  in  which  it  does  grow 
better,  because  people  wish  that  it  should,  and  take  the  right  steps  to  make 
it  better.  Evolution  is  not  a  force,  but  a  process ;  not  a  cause,  but  a  law. 
It  explains  the  source  and  marks  the  immovable  limitations  of  social 
energy.  But  social  energy  can  never  be  superseded  either  by  evolution  or 
by  anything  else. 2 

It  is  human  activity  that  transforms  the  environment  in  the  in- 
terest of  man.  It  is  that  interest 3  which  is  in  the  nature  of  a  force, 
and  which  in  fact  constitutes  the  social  forces,  that  has  accomplished 

1  "  Prolegomena  to  Evolution  and  Ethics,"  1894.    Collected  Essays, Vol.  IX. 

2  John  Morley,  Fortnightly  Review,  Vol.  XXII  (N.  S.,  Vol.  XVI),  Aug.  1, 1874, 
p.  229;  "  On  Compromise,"  London,  1874,  Chapter  V,  pp.  160-161. 

8  Ratzenhofer  has  greatly  enriched  the  terminology  of  social  science  by  the  promi- 
nent place  he  gives  to  this  term  (angeborenes  Interesse)  as  the  precise  equivalent  of 
the  social  forces,  as  I  have  used  that  expression.  See  his  "  Sociologische  Erkenntnis," 
pp.  28  ff .  et  passim.  M.  Espinas  used  the  same  term  in  his  "Socie'te's  animales," 
p.  459,  in  the  same  sense,  but  did  not  elaborate  the  thought. 


22  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

everything  in  the  social  world.  It  is  the  social  homologue  of  the 
universal  nisus  of  nature,  the  primordial  cosmic  force  (Urkraft) 
which  produces  all  change.  It  is,  to  use  a  modern  phrase,  unilateral, 
and  hence  we  find  that  the  activities  which  have  resulted  in  human 
achievement  have,  when  broadly  viewed,  an  orderly  method  and 
a  uniform  course.  Just  as  the  biotic  form  of  this  universal 
force  pushes  life  into  every  crack  and  cranny,  into  the  frozen  tun- 
dras and  the  abysmal  depths  of  the  sea,  so  the  generalized  social 
energy  of  human  interest  rears  everywhere  social  structures  that 
are  the  same  in  all  ages  and  races  so  far  as  concerns  their  essential 
nature. 

But  it  is  time  to  inquire  more  specially  what  the  products  of  achieve- 
ment are.  The  chief  failure  to  understand  them  is  due  to  the  false 
and  superficial  view  that  they  consist  in  material  goods,  or  wealth. 
This  is  the  fallacy  upon  which  chiefly  rests  the  notion  that  human 
society  differs  from  animal  society  only  in  degree.  Because 
welfare  is  so  largely  dependent  on  wealth,  it  is  natural  to  suppose 
that  wealth  is  the  main  condition  to  progress.  There  is  a  sense  in 
which  this  is  true,  but  to  say  that  wealth  is  a  product  of  achievement 
involves  an  ellipsis.  Material  goods,  as,  for  example,  food,  clothing, 
and  shelter,  are,  it  is  true,  the  ends ;  but  the  real  products  of  achieve- 
ment are  means.  They  are  the  means  to  these  ends,  and  not  the 
ends  themselves.  Involved  in  the  idea  of  achievement  is  that  of 
permanence.  Nothing  that  is  not  permanent  can  be  said  to  have 
been  achieved,  at  least  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  is  here 
employed.  Now,  material  goods  are  all  perishable.  Nothing  is 
better  understood  by  economists  than  the  instability  of  wealth. 
Says  John  Stuart  Mill :  — 

When  men  talk  of  the  ancient  wealth  of  a  country,  of  riches  inherited 
from  .ancestors,  and  similar  expressions,  the  idea  suggested  is,  that  the 
riches  so  transmitted  were  produced  long  ago,  at  the  time  when  they  are 
said  to  have  been  first  acquired,  and  that  no  portion  of  the  capital  of  a  country 
was  produced  this  year,  except  as  much  as  may  have  been  this  year  added  to 
the  total  amount.  The  fact  is  far  otherwise.  The  greater  part,  in  value,  of 
the  wealth  now  existing  in  England  has  been  produced  by  human  hands 
within  the  last  twelve  months.  A  very  small  proportion  indeed  of  that  large 
aggregate  was  in  existence  ten  years  ago ;  —  of  the  present  productive  capital 
of  the  country  scarcely  any  part,  except  farm-houses  and  factories,  and  a  few 
ships  and  machines ;  and  even  these  would  not  in  most  cases  have  survived 
so  long,  if  fresh  labor  had  not  been  employed  within  that  period  in  putting 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  23 

them  in  repair.  The  land  subsists,  and  the  land  is  almost  the  only  thing 
that  subsists.  Everything  which  is  produced  perishes,  and  most  things 
very  quickly.  .  .  .  Capital  is  kept  in  existence  from  age  to  age,  not  by 
preservation,  but  by  perpetual  reproduction.1 

Mr.  Henry  George  in  his  "  Progress  and  Poverty,"  Chapter  IV,  has 
further  discussed  this  subject.  Most  goods  of  course  are  consumed 
at  once.  These  are  the  most  important  of  all.  The  real  end  is  con- 
sumption, and  goods  have  no  value  except  in  consumption.  But 
there  are  great  differences  in  the  degree  of  perishability  of  goods 
corresponding  to  the  different  kinds  of  consumption.  A  brown 
stone  front  on  Fifth  Avenue  requires  several*  generations  of  occupants 
to  "  consume  "  it,  but  if  not  constantly  kept  in  repair  it  would  soon 
crumble  into  ruins,  and  even  the  stones  that  face  its  front  would  be 
ultimately  buried  under  accumulations  of  dust.  Wonder  is  sometimes 
expressed  at  the  discovery  of  ruined  cities,  such  as  Nineveh,  Babylon, 
Troy,  etc.,  deeply  buried  under  the  earth,  and  it  is  supposed  that  it  is 
because  the  sands  of  the  desert  of  that  region  have  rapidly  entombed 
them.  But  in  Rome  and  other  ancient  cities  not  in  desert  regions 
excavations  reveal  buildings  underneath  the  sites  of  the  present  ones. 
In  the  exceptionally  clean  city  of  Washington  the  official  files  and 
records  stored  away  in  the  archives  of  fireproof  buildings  are  covered 
with  a  thick  coating  of  dust  in  a  few  years.  The  deposition  of  dust 
in  the  United  States  National  Museum  seems  to  be  about  at  the  rate  of 
one  millimeter  per  annum.  It  would  be  many  times  that  out-of-doors, 
and  the  National  Capital  would  become  a  buried  Nineveh  in  a  few 
centuries,  if  abandoned  by  man. 

Wagons,  carriages,  and  other  vehicles  only  last  their  owners  a  cer- 
tain length  of  time.  Locomotives  and  railroad  rolling  stock  last  only 
so  long,  and  must  be  replaced  by  new,  however  thoroughly  they  may 
be  kept  in  repair.  A  steamship  has  a  duration  of  life  that  is  more 
nearly  a  fixed  quantity  than  that  of  a  man  or  an  animal,  and  its  mor- 
tality is  just  as  certain.  It  makes  very  little  difference  either 
whether  these  things  are  kept  in  use  or  not.  They  disintegrate  even 
more  rapidly  if  lying  idle.  Machinery  rusts  and  timbers  rot  more 
rapidly  if  always  lying  in  one  position  than  if  kept  moving.  Houses 
go  to  pieces  faster  if  unoccupied  than  if  inhabited.  Clothing  would 
probably  last  longer  unworn  if  kept  away  from  moths  and  moisture 

1(' Principles  of  Political  Economy,"  etc.,  by  John  Stuart  Mill,  Boston,  1848, 
Vol.  I,  pp.  93,  94. 


24  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

than  if  worn,  but  sometimes  even  this  does  not  seem  true.  I  once 
talked  with  an  aged  colored  man  at  the  Soldier's  Home  near  Wash- 
ington, who  had  been  the  body  servant  of  General  Winfield  Scott, 
and  who,  since  the  death  of  the  general,  had  been  assigned  the  duty 
of  caring  for  his  effects  in  a  room  where  they  were  kept.  Among 
these  effects  were  his  military  clothes,  his  sashes,  etc.  The  old  man 
said  with  a  sigh  of  loyal  sadness  that  in  spite  of  all  his  care  they 
were  going  to  pieces,  and  with  a  true  touch  of  superstitious  reverence 
he  ascribed  their  rapid  decay  to  the  fact  that  their  owner  was  no 
longer  alive.  But  of  course  he  forgot  that  if  he  had  lived  all  that 
time  it  would  probably  have  been  necessary  to  renew  them  several 
times. 

If  achievement  consisted  in  wealth,  the  objects  of  production  would 
have  grown  more  and  more  durable  with  the  progress  of  civilization. 
The  fact  is  precisely  the  reverse  of  this.  Whatever  class  of  objects 
we  may  examine,  we  find  that  the  farther  back  we  go  the  more  solid 
and  enduring  the  materials  are  of  which  they  are  constructed.  This 
is  perhaps  the  most  strikingly  exemplified  in  architecture.  Compare 
the  old  with  the  new  part  of  any  city  of  Europe,  or  even  of  America. 
I  once  engaged  a  room  in  a  house  on  Essex  Street,  Strand,  of  which 
the  front  door  consisted  of  ponderous  planks  six  inches  thick.  The 
enlightened  host  apologized  for  it,  saying  that  it  was  a  very  old 
house.  Without  some  such  experience,  the  modern  American  law 
student  can  scarcely  understand  the  phrase  he  finds  in  his  "  Black- 
stone,"  that  in  English  law  "  a  man's  house  is  his  castle."  The  clap- 
boarded  balloon  frames  of  the  Middle  West  are  more  like  "  castles 
in  the  air."  But  any  American  who  has  seen  Europe,  even  in  the 
capacity  of  a  tourist,  knows  that  this  case  was  no  particular  excep- 
tion. Builders  in  European  cities  have  unlimited  difficulty  in  trying 
to  introduce  into  the  older  buildings  such  "  modern  improvements  " 
as  water  and  gas  pipes,  and  electric  wires.  Such  buildings  were 
built  to  stay,  and  many  of  them  are  still  very  strong.  But  to  see 
the  perishability  of  even  such  structures  it  is  only  necessary  to  visit 
such  castles  and  ch§teaus  as  those  of  Colchester  or  Chinon.  But 
there  has  been  a  gradual  change  in  the  character  of  architecture,  both 
public  and  private,  in  the  direction  of  less  and  less  solidity,  dura- 
bility, and  costliness,  from  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  to  the  cottages  of 
modern  summer  resorts. 

Not  less  clearly  is  this  tendency  illustrated  by  the  history  of  book- 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  25 

making  since  the  invention  of  printing.  Any  one  who  has  had  occa- 
sion to  handle  books  published  in  the  sixteenth  or  seventeenth 
century,  does  not  need  to  have  this  point  further  enforced.  Often 
printed  on  parchment,  always  with  strong,  almost  indestructible 
binding,  firmly  and  securely  hand  sewed,  not  to  speak  of  the  elabo- 
rate ornamentation  of  the  title  page  and  rubrics  at  the  heads  of 
chapters,  these  ancient  tomes  are  the  embodiments  of  painstaking 
workmanship  and  durability.  Contrast  them  with  modern  books. 
Four  centuries  hence  there  will  scarcely  exist  a  copy  of  a  nineteenth- 
century  book  that  anybody  reads.  Many  an  Edition  de  luxe  even  will 
go  to  pieces  on  the  shelves  of  public  libraries. 

But  to  these  qualities  of  durability  and  expensiveness  have  suc- 
ceeded those  of  ready  reproduction  and  indefinite  multiplication. 
These  are  the  elements  of  diffusion  and  popularization.  It  is  an 
evening  up  of  conditions.  For  along  with  the  massive  structures, 
chiefly  for  tombs  of  dead  rulers  or  temples  to  the  gods,  there  went 
great  deprivation,  even  in  the  means  of  shelter,  for  the  living  men 
of  the  time.  So,  too,  in  the  early  history  of  book-making,  only 
the  very  few  could  afford  to  own  a  book.  Only  the  cheap  can 
become  universal,  and  it  is  easier  to  renew  a  cheap  article  than 
to  guard  a  costly  one.  The  ages  of  stone  and  bronze  and  iron 
have  successively  passed,  and  we  are  living  in  an  age  of  paper  and 
caoutchouc. 

Achievement  does  not  consist  in  wealth.  Wealth  is  fleeting  and 
ephemeral.  Achievement  is  permanent  and  eternal.  And  now 
mark  the  paradox.  Wealth,  the  transient,  is  material ;  achievement, 
the  enduring,  is  immaterial.  The  products  of  achievement  are  not 
material  things  at  all.  As  said  before,  they  are  not  ends  but  means. 
They  are  methods,  ways,  principles,  devices,  arts,  systems,  institu- 
tions. In  a  word,  they  are  inventions.  Achievement  consists  in  in- 
vention in  the  Tardean  sense.  It  is  anything  and  everything  that 
rises  above  mere  imitation  or  repetition.  Every  such  increment  to 
civilization  is  a  permanent  gain,  because  it  is  imitated,  repeated,  per- 
petuated, and  never  lost.  It  is  chiefly  mental  or  psychical,  but  it  may 
be  physical  in  the  sense  of  skill.  The  earlier  developments  of  civi- 
lizing influences  consisted  mainly  in  these,  and  such  accounts  as  we 
have  consist  in  descriptions  of  the  physical  feats  of  heroes.  But 
mere  muscular  strength  soon  yields  to  cunning  and  skill.  These  do 
not  achieve  until  they  begin  to  create.  Language  itself  was  an. 


26  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

achievement  of  stupendous  import,  and  every  one  of  the  steps  it  has 
taken  —  gesture,  oral,  written,  printed  forms  of  language  —  has 
marked  an  epoch  in  the  progress  of  man.  Literature  has  become 
one  of  the  great  achievements.  Art,  too,  is  an  achievement  upon 
which  we  need  not  dwell.  Philosophy  and  science  must  be  ranked 
as  achievements,  vast  and  far-reaching  in  their  consequences.  The 
invention  of  tools,  instruments,  utensils,  missiles,  traps,  snares,  and 
weapons  comes  under  this  head,  crowned  by  the  era  of  machino- 
f  acture,  artificial  locomotion,  and  electric  intercommunication. 

All  these  are  too  obvious  and  important  to  have  escaped  the 
observation  of  any  one.  But  I  wish  to  draw  attention  to  a  class  of 
products  of  achievement  that  are  at  once  typical,  important,  and 
little  thought  of  in  this  connection.  They  may  be  called  the  tools 
of  the  mind.  Lord  Bacon  saw  the  need  of  instruments  or  helps  to 
the  mind  as  tools  are  helps  to  the  hand,1  but  long  before  his  day  many 
such  had  been  invented,  and  he  had  used  them  all  his  life,  and  many 
have  been  invented  since.  An  arithmetical  notation,  or  mode  of 
expressing  numbers  by  symbols  of  any  kind,  is  such  a  tool  of  the 
mind,  and  all  leading  races  have  devised  something  of  the  kind. 
Greece  had  hers,  and  Rome  hers.  We  still  make  some  use  of  the 
latter.  But  these  systems  vary  greatly  in  value  and  usefulness, 
according  to  their  simplicity  and  flexibility.  It  is  remarkable  that 
the  Greek  mind,  although  so  given  to  mathematics,  did  not  furnish 
the  world  with  a  perfect  method  of  writing  numbers.  The  system 
that  is  now  universally  employed  by  civilized  races  is  called  the 
Arabic  system,  but  it  is  probable  that  the  Arabs  only  somewhat 
improved  it  after  receiving  it  from  the  East.  We  are  told,  too,  that, 
like  most  other  things,  it  has  a  history  and  a  genesis,  but  its  origin  is 
for  the  most  part  lost  in  obscurity.  So  far  as  the  decimal  system 
itself  is  concerned,  some  form  of  it  (if  not  decimal,  then  by  fives  or 
twenties)  is  practically  universal,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
are  ten  fingers  on  the  two  hands,  and  that  the  fingers  (or  fingers  and 
toes)  are  universally  used  for  counting.  The  origin  of  the  Arabic 
symbols  is  a  matter  of  speculation,2  but  these  would  be  evolved  very 
much  as  were  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  But  the  peculiar  merit  of 

1  "Novum  Organum,"  Aph.  II. 

2  An  ingenious  theory  was  proposed  by  Mr.  W.  Donisthorpe  in  Nature  of  Sept.  30, 
1875,  Vol.  XII,  p.  476,  and   supplemented  by  Mr.  D.  V.  T.  Qua  in    the  Popular 
Science  Monthly  for  April,  1877,  Vol.  X,  pp.  737-739,  and  numerous  other  writers  of 
about  that  time. 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  27 

the  Arabic  system  consists  in  what  is  called  the  value  of  position,1 
and  this  it  is  which  gives  it  its  wonderful  adaptability  to  business 
uses.  We  need  only  to  figure  to  ourselves  the  sorry  plight  the  world 
would  be  in  if  obliged  to  depend  for  all  the  business  transactions, 
engineering  calculations,  and  pedagogic  necessities  upon,  say,  the 
Eoman  system  of  numerals,  in  order  to  form  a  just  idea  of  the 
infinite  value  to  society  of  the  Arabic  system.  This  illustrates,  too, 
as  well  as  any  other  case,  what  is  meant  by  permanence.  The  goods 
whose  cost,  prices,  and  values  it  enables  us  so  readily  to  calculate, 
may  be  produced,  transported,  exchanged,  and  consumed  a  thousand 
or  a  million  times,  but  the  means  of  computing  all  the  elements  of 
these  processes  remain  forever,  and  may  be  used  throughout  all 
future  time,  as  they  have  been  used  in  the  past.  The  Arabic  system 
is  a  typical  permanent  human  achievement. 

In  like  manner  we  might  review  all  the  other  kinds  of  calculus  : 
algebra,  which  also  goes  back  to  India ;  logarithms,  of  relatively 
modern  date ;  analytical  geometry,  invented  by  Descartes  and  now 
used  by  all  statisticians,  by  political  economists  and  sociologists; 
the  differential  and  integral  calculus,  somewhat  independently 
formulated  by  Newton,  Leibnitz,  and  Lagrange,  and  without  which 
astronomy  and  many  other  sciences  and  arts  could  never  have  reached 
their  present  state  of  development.  These,  too,  are  among  the  great 
permanent  achievements  of  the  race.  The  three  great  arts  of  read- 
ing, writing,  arid  calculating,  viewed  from  a  philosophical  standpoint, 
have  raised  that  part  of  mankind  who  possess  them  high  above  all 
those  races  in  which  they  are  unknown,  or  only  rudimentary.  The 
unreflecting  have  little  idea  of  the  importance  of  these  factors  in 
giving  superiority  to  the  advanced  races.  I  fully  agree  with  Galton, 
Kidd,  and  others  of  their  school,  that  the  natural  superiority  of 
civilized  races  as  compared  with  uncivilized  ones  is  greatly  exagger- 
ated, and  that  it  is  almost  wholly  due  to  this  vast  mechanical  equip- 
ment of  acquired  aptitudes,  built  up  along  one  advancing  line  of 
social  development,  increment  upon  increment,  permanently  welded 
to  these  races  so  that  they  imagine  that  it  is  a  part  of  themselves. 
Mr.  Kidd  very  happily  calls  the  power  thus  acquired  social  efficiency, 

1  See  the  learned  essay  on  this  subject  by  Baron  von  Humboldt,  originally  published 
in  Crelle's  Journal  fur  die  reine  und  angeicandte  Mathematik,  Vol.  IV,  Berlin,  1829, 
pp.  205-231  (especially  pp.  215-227)  ;  reproduced  in  part  in  his  "Kosmos,"  Vol.  II 
(Cotta's  edition,  Stuttgart,  1870),  pp.  288-290. 


28  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

a  term  that  I  gladly  adopt  and  shall  freely  use.  And  I  fully  agree 
with  him  when,  after  illustrating  this  truth  at  considerable  length, 
he  concludes :  — 

The  true  lesson  of  this,  and  of  the  large  class  of  similar  experiences 
commonly  supposed  to  prove  the  low  mental  development  of  uncivilized 
man,  is  not  that  he  is  so  inferior  to  ourselves,  intellectually,  as  to  be  almost 
on  a  level  with  Mr.  Galton's  dog,  but  that  he  is  almost  always  the  representa- 
tive of  a  race  of  low  social  efficiency  with  consequently  no  social  history. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  individuals  of  civilized  races  with  whom  he  is 
contrasted  are  the  members  of  a  community  with  a  long  record  of  social 
stability  and  continuity,  which  is,  therefore,  in  possession  of  a  vast  accumu- 
lated store  of  knowledge  inherited  from  past  generations.  That  is  to  say, 
we  are  the  representatives  of  peoples  necessarily  possessing  high  social 
qualities,  but  not  by  any  means  and  to  the  same  degree  these  high  intellectual 
qualities  we  so  readily  assume.1 

The  industrial  arts  form  a  much  more  obvious,  though  perhaps 
not  more  important,  class  of  human  achievements.  They  are  greatly 
dependent  at  every  step  on  the  tools  of  the  mind,  and,  properly 
viewed,  they  are  almost  as  completely  psychic  in  their  nature.  For 
all  art  is  due  to  invention,  and  invention  is  a  mental  operation.  Every 
tool  or  implement  of  industry,  however  primitive  and  rude,  has  cost 
a  large  amount,  in  the  aggregate,  of  thought,  although  it  may  be  the 
product  of  a  long  series  of  slight  improvements,  distributing  the 
mental  energy  through  many  different  minds  acting  in  different 
generations.  Still  it  foots  up  the  same  quantity  of  thought  applied 
to  the  invention.  But  the  increment  of  improvement  is  at  once 
materialized  in  the  changed  product,  and  the  achievement  is  thus 
rendered  permanent,  and  the  basis  for  further  improvement. 
Thought  is  thus  dynamic  when  applied  to  matter.  The  new  and 
better  article,  if  used,  will  wear  out,  but  the  materialized  idea  lives 
on  in  the  reproduction  of  the  article  as  long  as  it  serves  its  purpose. 
This  part  involves  what  is  called  labor.  The  inventor  need  not 
make  a  usable  tool  or  machine  at  all.  He  may  embody  the  idea  in 
a  model,  or  even  in  a  drawing,  and  nowadays  the  state  assumes  the 
duty  of  registering  and  preserving  these  models,  and  protecting  the 
inventor  from  having  them  copied  by  others  who  did  not  invent  them. 

But  the  simple  reproduction  of  invented  products  is  not  purely 
physical  or  muscular.  This  point  has  latterly  been  insisted  upon 
by  a  number  of  economists.  Says  Dr.  Gustav  Cohn :  — 

i  "  Social  Evolution,"  by  Benjamin  Kidd,  New  York,  1894,  p.  272. 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER   OF   SOCIOLOGY  29 

Labor,  in  its  economic  aspects,  whether  mental  or  physical,  has  its  basis, 
not  in  nature,  but  in  civilization ;  it  does  not  depend  on  physiological  but 
on  psychological  reasons.  Moreover,  it  is  not  possible  in  any  case  to  separate 
mental  from  physical  labor ;  for  the  simplest  operation  in  which  the  use  of 
the  muscles  is  guided  by  any  trace  of  thought  is  a  combination  of  both  kinds 
of  labor.1 

Professor  Clark  expresses  the  same  truth  in  the  following 
language :  — 

In  view  of  the  constant  presence  of  these  three  elements  in  labor,  the 
physical,  the  mental,  and  the  moral,  any  effort,  in  the  supposed  interest  of 
the  working  classes,  to  depreciate  mental  labor  in  comparison  with  physical 
is  unintelligent.  All  labor  is  mental.  To  a  large  and  controlling  extent 
the  mental  element  is  present  in  the  simplest  operations.  With  the  laborer 
who  shovels  in  the  gravel  pit  the  directing  and  controlling  influence  of  the 
mind  predominates,  to  an  indefinite  extent,  over  the  simple  foot-pounds  of 
mechanical  force  which  he  exerts.2 

This  is  why  human  labor  and  animal  activity  are  generically 
distinct,  and  one  of  the  principal  reasons  why  sociology  cannot 
properly  include  the  study  of  the  so-called  animal  societies,  pro- 
duced and  continued  by  reflex  and  instinctive  forces. 

Inventions,  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the  word,  almost  immediately 
pass  into  arts.  In  fact,  in  most  of  them  there  is  scarcely  any  line 
of  demarcation  between  them.  They  are  preeminently  telic,  and  it 
is  the  function  that  is  primarily  in  the  inventor's  mind.  He  knows 
what  he  wants  done,  and  merely  devises  the  means  of  doing  it.  It 
is  thus  that  the  arts  grow  up.  What  the  inventor  does  is  to  discover 

•     • 

the  principle  by  which  he  can  cause  the  forces  of  nature,  including 
the  properties  of  the  substances  that  he  is  acquainted  with, 
to  do  the  work  that  he  wishes  to  have  done  and  cannot  do 
with  his  unaided  hands.  The  discovery  of  this  principle 
and  the  mode  of  applying  it  is  what  constitutes  the  achievement. 
This  discovery,  and  not  the  resulting  material  product,  is  the 
lasting  element  in  the  operation.  It  can  be  used  thenceforth  for 
all  time.  It  never  wears  out  and  is  never  lost.  We  hear  a  great 
deal  about  lost  arts.  I  heard  a  learned  lecture  once  on  lost  arts, 
and  the  thing  that  chiefly  impressed  me  was  the  extreme  rarity  and 
practical  non  existence  of  lost  arts.  They  may  be  conceived  of, 

1  "  A  History  of  Political  Economy,"  by  Dr.  Gustav  Cohn.    Translated  by  Joseph 
Adna  Hill,  Philadelphia,  1894  (Supplement  to  the  Ann.  Am.  Acad.  Pol.  and  Soc.  Set., 
March,  1894),  pp.  87-88. 

2  "  The  Philosophy  of  Wealth,"  etc.,  by  John  B.  Clark,  Boston,  1886,  p.  21. 


30  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

but  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  none,  at  least  in  the  historic 
(weltgeschichtliche)  races.  The  only  way  in  which  we  can  conceive 
an  art  to  be  lost  is  to  suppose  several  lines  of  civilization  to  have 
developed  independently  of  one  another,  some  of  which  have  for 
any  reason  terminated,  while  others  have  continued.  If  inventions 
and  arts  had  existed  in  the  former  that  did  not  exist  in  the  latter, 
they  might  thus  be  lost,  and  we  can  imagine  that  their  products, 
preserved  by  time  and  favorable  conditions,  might  subsequently 
be  discovered  by  surviving  races  who  did  not  know  how  they 
were  created.  But  this  is  merely  hypothetical,  and  with  the 
increasing  intercommunication  among  nations  and  consequent  cul- 
tural anastomosis,  the  chances  of  its  occurrence  are  constantly 
diminishing. 

These  two  great  classes  of  products  of  achievement,  means  of 
handling  quantities  and  means  of  utilizing  forces  —  calculus  and 
invention  —  are  perhaps  the  most  important,  and  they  have  chiefly 
rendered  civilization  possible.  But  others  might  be  enumerated, 
which,  considered  alone,  might  appear  to  possess  still  greater  weight, 
and  of  many  of  which  it  can  at  least  be  said,  that  but  for  them  the 
fruits  of  the  forms  of  achievement  that  we  have  considered  could 
not  have  been  reaped.  These  are  essentially  social  in  their  char- 
acter, and  relate  to  men  in  a  collective  capacity.  To  mention  them 
in  something  like  the  probable  order  of  their  development,  we  may 
enumerate,  1,  military  systems,  2,  political  systems,  3,  juridical 
systems,  and  4,  industrial  systems..  Whatever  views  may  be  enter- 
tained relative  to  the  social  position  of  war,  the  sociologist  cannot 
ignore  the  role  it  has  played  in  the  history  of  man  and  society. 
The  subject  will  be  fully  dealt  with  in  the  tenth  chapter,  but  it  may 
properly  be  stated  here  that  the  earliest  of  the  whole  series  of  means 
for  organizing  the  social  forces  were  military  systems,  and  that  all 
others  grew  out  of  them.  The  transition  from  military  to  political 
control  was  natural  and  gradual,  as  Gumplowicz  and  Ratzenhofer 
have  shown.  The  state  was  the  normal  and  legitimate  outcome  of 
the  race  struggle,  first  military,  then  political.  Law,  too,  began  as 
an  economic  method  of  escape  from  the  necessity  of  constantly 
exercising  military  and  civil  power,  and  systems  of  jurisprudence 
were  a  natural  outgrowth  of  social  conditions  under  a  regime  of  con- 
quest and  subjugation.  Lastly,  the  industrial  system,  as  such,  could 
only  arise  under  the  protection  of  army,  state,  and  law.  These  may 


en.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  31 

therefore  be  called  protective  or  conservative  systems  or  achieve- 
ments, and  neither  industry,  art,  nor  science  could  thrive  except 
under  the  protection  of  law  and  government  having  a  final  appeal 
to  the  military  power. 

Finally,  it  may  be  said  in  general  that  all  human  institutions  are 
achievements.  Even  those  that  we  now  consider  bad,  even  those 
that  have  been  abolished,  were  useful  in  the  wider  sense  in  their 
day  and  age.  The  fact  that  they  were  developed  and  actually  came 
into  existence  proves  to  the  sociologist  that  they  must  have  served  a 
purpose.  But  there  is  really  no  such  thing  as  abolishing  an  institu- 
tion. Institutions  change  their  character  to  adapt  them  to  their  time, 
and  the  successive  forms  may  take  different  names,  and  be  no  longer 
recognized  as  the  same  as  the  institutions  out  of  which  they  have  de- 
veloped, but  the  fundamental  principle  which  underlies  them  is  com- 
mon to  them  all,  and  may  usually  be  traced  through  the  entire  series 
of  changes  that  an  institution  may  have  undergone.  The  term  institu- 
tion is  capable  of  such  expansion  as  to  embrace  all  human  achieve- 
ment, and  in  this  enlarged  sense  institutions  become  the  chief  study 
of  the  sociologist.  All  achievements  are  institutions,  and  there  is  a 
decided  gain  to  the  mind  in  seeking  to  determine  the  true  subject- 
matter  of  sociology,  to  regard  human  institutions  and  human  achieve- 
ment as  synonymous  terms,  and  as  constituting,  in  the  broadest  sense 
of  both,  the  field  of  research  of  a  great  science. 

These  products  of  achievement  that  we  have  been  considering  have 
one  fundamental  condition,  without  which  they  would  have  been 
impossible.  They  absolutely  require  social  continuity.  I  have  said 
that  they  are  permanent,  that  they  are  never  lost.  This  is  implied 
in  the  term  achievement.  To  be  lost  is  not  to  exist.  We  may  illus- 
trate this  from,  biology.  Individuals  are  short-lived,  but  the  race 
persists.  Species  may  become  extinct,  but  genera  or  families  are 
carried  on.  We  find  certain  forms  in  existence.  We  know  nothing 
of  other  forms.  If  there  have  been  such,  they  are  the  same  to  us  as 
if  they  had  not  existed.  The  theory  is  that  the  bathmic  force  is 
omnipresent  and  pushing  in  every  direction,  as  from  the  center  of  a 
sphere  toward  every  point  on  its  periphery.  We  may  imagine  that, 
besides  the  few  lines  that  succeeded  in  developing,  there  were  hun- 
dreds or  even  thousands  of  other  lines  tested,  but  found  to  fail,  sooner 
or  later,  leaving  only  the  ones  we  know.  Now  a  lost  art  or  a  lost 
institution  would  correspond  to  one  of  these  supposed  failures  of 


32  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

organic  nature.  It  would  be,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  non- 
existent. In  other  words,  and  it  certainly  sounds  platitudinal, 
society  consists  of  existing  institutions,  just  as  life  consists  of  exist- 
ing forms. 

But  this  truth  is  not  quite  so  simple  as  it  seems  when  put  in  this 
way.  Social  continuity  is  an  important  factor,  and  one  that  may  be 
readily  thought  away.  In  fact,  and  here  the  biological  analogy 
seems  to  fail,  it  does  not  apply  to  all  the  populations  of  the  globe. 
I  do  not  mean  to  favor  any  doctrine  of  polygenism,  by  doing  which 
Gumplowicz  has  so  greatly  and  so  unnecessarily  weakened  his  argu- 
ments in  the  eyes  of  scientific  men.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question  of  organic  descent  or  with  the  origin  of  the  human  races. 
It  is  a  purely  sociological  fact  that  all  the  human  races  do  not 
belong  to  one  and  the  same  series  of  cultural  development.  Many 
of  them  are  so  primitive  that  even  when  brought  into  contact  with 
the  historic  races  they  have  nothing  to  contribute  to  the  general 
stream  of  culture,  and  become  simply  subjects  for  natural  history 
study,  like  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the  regions  they  inhabit.  But 
there  are  others,  such  as  most  of  the  Asiatic  races,  who  have  followed 
lines  of  their  own,  and  must  have  a  certain  culture  history,  whichr 
however,  is  so  unlike  that  of  the  European  races,  that  there  is  very 
little  in  common  between  them.  Some  maintain  that  Chinese  culture, 
for  example,  is  equal  if  not  superior  to  European.  The  same  claim 
is  sometimes  made  for  India.  I  need  not  enter  into  that  question 
here.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  Oriental  civilization  seems  to  have  con- 
sisted chiefly  in  what  may  be  called  spiritual  culture,  largely  ignoring 
material  culture.  But  as  matter  alone  is  dynamic,  they  have 
acquired  very  little  social  energy,  or  social  efficiency.  They  have 
not  called  nature  to  their  assistance,  and  consequently  they  are 
practically  powerless  when  brought  into  competition  with  Western 
civilization.  I  do  not  refer  altogether  to  their  weakness  in  matters 
of  war.  They  lack  in  great  measure  the  industrial  efficiency  of  the 
West.  They  lack  chiefly  the  mechanic  arts,  and  have  developed  but 
little  machinofacture,  being  confined  in  the  main  to  manufacture  in 
the  literal  sense.  They  have  not  employed  the  two  great  agencies, 
steam  and  electricity.  Even  if  their  civilization  represents  a  longer 
line  than  that  of  the  Occident,  it  is  certainly  immensely  behind  it  in 
these  respects,  which  we  regard  as  the  most  important  ones.  They 
are  beginning  to  recognize  this,  and  some  of  the  nations  of  the  East, 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER   OF   SOCIOLOGY  33 

notably  Japan,  are  rapidly  westernizing  and  working  over  into  the 
great  current  of  scientific  culture.  It  is  probably  safe  to  predict  that 
all  will  either  do  so  or  be  permanently  side-tracked. 

Sociology,  as  distinguished  from  anthropology,  deals  mainly  with 
historic,  or  as  the  Germans  call  them,  weltgeschichtliche  races,  because 
here  alone  is  social  continuity,  the  sine  qua  non  of  achievement. 
Such  races  may  properly  be  called  in  analogy  to  the  use  of  the  term 
in  biology,  the  "  favored  races."  These  alone  have  built  up  a  civili- 
zation. They  have  achieved  and  handed  down  the  products  from 
generation  to  generation,  and  from  age  to  age.  It  is  easy  to  trace 
this  line  back  to  a  state  of  barbarism.  We  can  almost  see  it  emerg- 
ing out  of  savagery.  At  least,  we  know  that  it  did  once  so  emerge, 
so  that  when  we  say  that  savages  contribute  nothing  to  civilization, 
we  do  not  mean  that  a  state  of  savagery  is  incompatible  with  historic 
development ;  we  only  mean  that  in  the  present  state  of  the  world 
they  are  contributing  nothing  to  the  main  existing  line  of  develop- 
ment. It  does  not  follow  that  if  existing  savages  could  be  unmolested 
for  an  indefinite  period  they  would  not  slowly  advance  along  some 
line  of  their  own.  Letourneau  has  shown  that  savages  do  progress. 
But  it  is  very  difficult  now  to  prove  such  a  point.  If  they  are  near 
enough  to  civilized  races  to  be  observed,  they  cannot  fail  to  be 
affected  by  them,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  they  would  have 
done  if  they  had  never  been  brought  into  contact  with  them.  The  x 
study  of  uncivilized  races,  therefore,  is,  and  must  remain,  anthro- 
pology and  not  sociology.  This  is  true  even  for  the  Asiatic  civiliza- 
tions. They  can  be  used  by  the  sociologist  to  furnish  valuable 
illustrations  and  comparisons,  but  beyond  this  they  form  no  part  of 
sociology  proper.  Should  they  ever  adopt  Western  methods,  acquire  , 
the  Western  spirit,  and  fall  entirely  into  line  with  the  Western  (  * 
world,  the  case  would  be  changed.  But  except  in  the  case  of  Japan, 
and  that  only  quite  recently,  the  fundamental  characteristics  are  so 
radically  different  that  the  sociologist  can  only  study  them  for  com- 
parative purposes.  The  widest  chasm  that  separates  the  East  from 
the  West  is  the  lack  of  individuality  in  the  former  contrasted  with 
the  exuberant  individualism  of  the  latter.  The  spirit  of  resigna- 
tion, the  prevailing  philosophy  of  quietism,  the  denial  or  complete 
subordination  of  the  will  to  live,  that  prevail  under  Buddhism, 
Brahminism,  Shintoism,  and  other  Oriental '  isms/  are  fatal  to  that 
vigorous  push  which  has  wrought  Western  civilization.  Desire  is 


34  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

the  social  force,  and  where  there  is  no  desire,  no  will,  there  is  no 
force,  no  social  energy.  Civilization  is  the  product  of  active  social 
energy.  Or,  to  use  Ratzenhof er's  terminology,  there  must  be  a  lively 
interest  or  there  can  be  no  achievement.  It  is  this  innate  interest 
(angeborenes  Interesse)  that  makes  men  fight  and  conquer  and  struggle. 
It  is  the  same  that  makes  them  undertake  voyages  of  discovery  in 
search  of  golden  fleeces,  or  El  Dorados,  or  Northwest  Passages. 
Interest  impels  mankind  to  explore,  to  migrate,  to  invent,  to  labor, 
to  produce  wealth,  to  seek  knowledge,  to  discover  truth,  to  create 
objects  both  of  use  and  beauty  —  in  a  word,  to  achieve.  We  shall 
return  to  this  subject  in  Chapter  XI,  when  it  will  be  time  to  consider 
in  its  full  significance  the  philosophy  of  effort. 

It  must  be  clear  from  all  that  has  been  said  that  the  essential 
characteristic  of  all  achievement  is  some  form  of  knowledge.  But 
knowledge,  unlike  capacity,  cannot  be  transmitted  through  heredity. 
The  germ-plasm  can  only  carry  the  ancestral  strains  of  parents  to 
their  offspring  and  descendants,  and  whether  "  acquired  characters  " 
can  be  thus  transmitted  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  acquired  knowledge 
is  a  "  character  "  that  does  not  descend  in  that  way.  It  has  to  be 
acquired  anew  by  every  member  of  society.  If  it  is  not  thus  ac- 
quired, it  is  lost  to  that  member.  But  as  all  achievement  is 
knowledge,  to  be  saved  it  must  be  transmitted  in  some  way.  The 
process  by  which  achievement  is  handed  down  may  be  aptly  called 
social  heredity.  This  social  heredity  is  the  same  thing  that  I  have 
otherwise  denominated  social  continuity,  and  it  is  the  absolute 
necessity  of  social  continuity  that  restricts  the  science  of  sociology 
to  that  great  line  of  social  development  in  which  there  has  been  no 
break  in  the  transmission  of  achievement.  We  thus  have  the  con- 
tinuity of  the  social  germ-plasm,  which  is  as  good  an  analogy  as 
the  organicists  have  discovered.  The  social  germ-plasm  is  that 
Promethean  fire  which  has  been  passed  on  from  age  to  age,  warm- 
ing the  world  into  life  with  its  glow,  and  lighting  it  with  its 
flame  through  all  the  long  night  of  the  past  into  the  daybreak  of  the 
present. 

A  few  rare  minds  have  dimly  seen  that  civilization  con- 
sists in  the  cumulative  light  of  knowledge.  The  most  cele- 
brated expression  of  this  truth  is  that  of  Pascal  in  which 
he  says  that  "the  entire  series  of  men  during  the  course  of  all 
the  ages  is  to  be  considered  as  if  it  were  one  and  the  same  man 


en.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  35 

who  has  always  lived  and  has  been  constantly  learning."  1  Pascal 
seems  to  have  derived  the  idea  from  St.  Augustine,  of  whom  he 
was  an  admirer  and  a  close  student.  Bacon  has  expressed  a  similar 
view,  and  something  very  close  to  it  occurs  frequently  in  Condorcet's 
"  Esquisse "  in  connection  with  his  favorite  doctrine  of  the  per- 
fectibility of  the  human  race.  Herder  also  entertained  similar  ideas. 
But  this  conception  is  only  an  approach  toward  the  truth.  It 
falls  far  short  of  what  has  actually  taken  place  in  the  world.  It 
indicates  the  length  but  not  the  breadth  of  civilization.  No  one 
man,  however  wise,  and  though  immortal,  could  have  accomplished 
what  all  men  have  accomplished.  This  brings  us  in  full  view 
of  one  of  the  most  important  and  at  the  same  time  most  neglected 
factors  of  social  evolution,  viz.,  that  of  individuality  in  achieve- 
ment. It  is  another  aspect  of  the  truth  we  encountered  in  the 
last  chapter  that  it  is  inequality  that  has  broadened  and  enriched 
civilization  as  it  has  broadened  and  enriched  science.  Civilization 
advances  in  much  the  same  way  that  science  advances.  It  is  not 
the  work  of  any  one  man,  but  of  thousands  of  men.  Each  one  of 
these  thousands  does  a  somewhat  different  work  from  any  other. 
This  is  due  to  the  natural  inequalities  of  men,  chiefly  to  varied  in- 
tellectual capacities  and  attainments  which  cause  them  to  follow 
different  and  almost  infinitely  varied  lines  and  produce  correspond- 
ingly varied  results.  This  causes  the  enormous  superiority  of  all 
men  over  any  one  man.  Human  achievement  may  be  compared  to 
a  great  modern  city  with  its  buildings  of  unequal  shapes,  sizes,  and 
heights,  its  columns,  monuments,  domes,  towers,  and  spires  differing 
in  all  conceivable  ways,  and  yet  denoting  a  still  more  endless 
variety  of  activities  and  social  operations.  If  we  take  up  the  study 
of  any  one  particular  line,  it  matters  not  what,  we  shall  find  lesser 
lights  and  great  lights  characterizing  the  history  of  its  development. 
Different  schools  of  art  represented  by  great  masters,  each  of  which 
has  added  something  to  the  work  of  all  the  rest.  Schools  of 
architecture,  of  sculpture,  of  painting,  of  music ;  types  of  poetry  and 
prose  literature  ;  systems  of  philosophy  ;  world  views  and  religious 
systems ;  qualitative  and  quantitative  powers  of  perceiving  utilities, 

1"Toute  la  suite  des  hommes,  pendant  le  cours  de  tant  de  siecles,  doit  etre 
considered  comme  nn  meme  homme  qui  subsiste  toujours,  et  qui  apprend  continuelle- 
ment."  Pense'es  de  Blaise  Pascal  suivies  d'une  Table  Analytique,  Paris,  1828,  p.  28. 
Saint  Augustine  ("  De  Civitate  Dei,"  X,  14 ;  "  DeQiuestionibus,"  LXXXI1I,  Qusest.  18) 
expressed  a  similar  thought  and  doubtless  Pascal's  idea  was  derived  from  that  source. 


36  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

resulting  in  innumerable  inventions  and  arts  —  all  due  to  natural 
inequalities  in  men.  It  is  thus  that  civilization  acquires  its  volume 
and  that  it  becomes  that  infinitely  complex  and  varied  field  of  study 
which  the  sociologist  finds  before  him. 

Here  come  in  the  diversities  of  genius  and  the  question  of  the 
nature  of  genius  in  general.  It  is  necessary  to  use  the  word  genius, 
if  we  use  it  at  all,  in  a  very  broad  sense.  Galton  in  the  prefatory  chap- 
ter to  the  edition  of  1892  of  his  "  Hereditary  Genius  "  concludes  from 
the  criticisms  of  the  term  genius  as  used  by  him  that  it  would  have 
been  better  to  substitute  the  word  ability,  but  this  would  have  lacked 
character,  and  it  is  much  better  to  retain  his  original  dignified  title 
and  simply  give  to  the  word  genius  a  greater  latitude.  This  is  what 
all  thinkers  do  when  they  seek  to  express  a  great  thought  by  some 
one  comprehensive  term.  Kant's  Vernunft,  Schopenhauer's  Wille, 
Comte's  positivisme,  are  such  comprehensive  uses  of  terms  much  more 
restricted  in  common  language.  I  shall  use  the  word  genius  in  this 
large  sense.  Genius  is  a  sort  of  focalization  of  psychic  power. 
While  there  is  an  immense  range  to  the  human  mind  in  general,  and 
enormous  differences  in  the  aggregate  capacity  of  different  minds,  this 
difference  is  still  further  increased  by  a  sort  of  unconscious  or  natural 
concentration  of  psychic  power  in  special  ways  in  the  same  mind. 
That  is  to  say,  a  mind  of  only  average  aggregate  capacity  may  draw- 
off  from  all  but  one  of  its  faculties  and  add  on  to  that  one,  until  it 
becomes  wonderfully  keen  or  able  or  efficient  in  that  one  direction. 
I  believe  this  to  be  the  case  with  most  typical  geniuses  in  any  particu- 
lar form  of  achievement.  It  is  proverbial  that  artists  are  very  medi- 
ocre in  all  but  their  art.  There  are  very  few  Leonardo  da  Vincis. 
It  is  the  same  with  poets  and  usually  with  philosophers.  It  is  a  sort 
of  psychic  division  of  labor  that  society  creates,  whereby  with  a 
large  number  of  workers  it  can  accomplish  the  maximum  results, 
just  as  by  the  industrial  division  of  labor  much  greater  results  are 
accomplished  than  could  be  done  if  all  were  doing  all  kinds  of  work 
and  only  doing  them  moderately  well. 

But  this  process  does  not  stop  with  producing  ordinary  genius  in 
all  directions  by  draining  other  faculties  to  stock  some  particular 
one  to  the  utmost.  It  sometimes  goes,  like  everything  in  nature,  to 
great  extremes,  and  produces  what  are  called  prodigies.  A  prodigy 
is  a  person  in  whom  a  particular  faculty  is  greatly  overdeveloped  at 
the  expense  of  the  rest.  Blind  Tom,  except  in  music,  is  very  close 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  37 

to  an  idiot.  Zerah  Colburn,  Vito  Mangiamele,  Tom  Fuller,  Jedediah 
Buxton,  Inaudi,  Dasah,  Zaneboni,  were  all  "  lightning  calculators," 
or  mathematical  prodigies.  They  varied  in  respect  of  other  faculties, 
but  are  all  reported  as  dull,  ignorant,  illiterate,  or  incapable  of 
learning  anything.  Several  of  them  were  defective  in  some  of  their 
senses  and  more  or  less  physically  deformed.  There  have  been  many 
prodigies  in  other  directions,  usually  deficient  in  all  but  the  one  power. 
That  there  is  such  a  power  of  compensation  or  substitution  of  facul- 
ties is  attested  by  the  history  of  deaf-mutes  and  blind  persons,  in 
which  the  remaining  senses  are  usually  much  sharpened.  This  con- 
centration of  mental  power  is  often  very  marked  in  children,  and 
cases  of  marvelous  precocity  are  recorded  without  number.  Great 
geniuses  are  usually  precocious,  and  some  men,  like  John  Stuart 
Mill,  Pascal,  and  Goethe,  who  were  not  one-sided  in  later  life,  were 
precocious.  But  the  achievements  of  prodigies  have  been  compara- 
tively small,  and  where  the  specialization  runs  thus  rampant  the 
result  is  reduced  until  we  reach  monomania,  the  idee  fixe,  or  com- 
plete insanity,  all  of  which  are  only  further  steps  in  the  same 
direction. 

If  we  expand  the  meaning  of  genius  to  include  all  that  are  called 
great  for  any  reason,  we  arrive  at  a  crude  basis  for  estimating  the 
proportion  of  geniuses  to  population.  Galton  undertook  the  compu- 
tation and  concluded  that  for  high  grade  talent  there  are  in  England 
250  per  million,  or  one  to  every  4000  males  of  fifty  years  of  age  and 
upward.  This  may  perhaps  be  accepted  as  approximately  the  actual 
state  of  things  in  the  leading  countries  of  the  world.  The  subject 
of  potential  genius  is  much  too  large  to  be  introduced  here,  and  we 
can  only  base  our  discussion  on  the  observed  facts  of  society  and  the 
state  of  things  which  social  evolution  has  actually  brought  about. 
I  do  not  say  that  the  rest  of  mankind  is  socially  worthless,  but  it  is 
mainly  devoted  to  statical  work  which  preserves  and  perpetuates 
achievement.  It  corresponds  to'  heredity  in  biology,  while  achieve- 
ment corresponds  to  variation.  We  cannot,  therefore,  regard  the 
non-achieving  classes  of  society  as  mere  ciphers,  nor  say  with  Gracian 
"  that  even  in  the  most  populous  cities  not  a  man  was  to  be  met  with, 
but  they  were  all  inhabited  by  lions,  tigers,  leopards,  foxes,  apes, 
cattle,  asses,  and  swine,  nowhere  a  man !  but  that  upon  further  in- 
vestigation it  was  found  that  the  few  real  men,  to  avoid  seeing  how 
things  were,  had  withdrawn  into  the  solitudes,  where  one  would 


38  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

expect  to  find  the  wild  beasts."  l  And  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
the  paucity  of  true  men  in  the  world  makes  a  true  man  feel  lonesome 
unless  he  has  learned  to  study  man  objectively  as  a  naturalist  studies 
animals,  and  this  feeling  of  contempt  for  the  mass  of  mankind  has 
been  expressed  by  many  writers,  such  as  Humboldt,  Schopenhauer, 
and  Dean  Swift. 

The  point  of  view  of  this  chapter  furnishes  a  remedy  for  this  form 
of  pessimism.  It  does  not  really  study  men  or  the  human  race 
at  all.  That  belongs  to  other  sciences  than  sociology,  chiefly  to 
anthropology.  It  studies  activities,  results,  products,  in  a  word, 
achievement.  Viewed  in  this  light  the  contemptible  side  of  human- 
ity vanishes  from  view,  and  only  what  is  worthy  or  grand  is  pre- 
sented to  the  gaze.  Even  the  relatively  trifling  character  of  the 
contribution  of  most  individuals  need  not  absorb  attention,  but  only 
aggregates.  Just  as  the  geologist,  although  no  one  knows  as  well 
as  he  that  the  great  ledges  and  canon  walls  were  built  up  by  mi- 
nute accretions  through  eons  of  time,  need  not  dwell  upon  these 
aspects,  but  may  study  as  a  whole  the  miles 2  of  stratified  rock,  so 

1 "  El  Criticon,"  Primera  Parte,  Crisi  V.  Obras  de  Lorenzo  Gracian,  Madrid,  1664, 
Vol.  I,  p.  37. 

2  The  Grand  Canon  walls  are  over  a  mile  in  vertical  thickness  from  the  granite  to 
the  top  of  the  rim  (Upper  Aubrey),  and  still  we  are  in  primary  or  Paleozoic  (Car- 
boniferous) time.  On  this  are  heaped  farther  eastward  the  Mesozoic,  the  Tertiary, 
and  the  Pleistocene. 

Haeckel  in  his  "  Weltrathsel "  (pp.  17,  44H43)  calls  this  general  view  of  the  world 
the  "  cosmological  perspective,"  and  he  emphasizes  the  importance  of  a  clear  under- 
standing of  the  age  of  the  earth  as  an  antidote  to  the  prevailing  anthropocentric 
world  view.  He  takes  up  the  question  of  geologic  time  which  has  been  actively 
discussed  during  the  last  two  decades  and  gives  100,000,000  as  the  minimum  esti- 
mate of  the  life-bearing  period  of  our  globe.  Of  this  he  gives  52,000,000  years  to 
primordial  time  (Archozoic),  ending  with  the  Cambrian,  34,000,000  to  the  Paleozoic, 
11,000,000  to  the  Mesozoic,  and  3,000,000  to  the  Cenozoic.  To  this  he  adds 
100,000  years  for  the  Quaternary  (Anthropozoic)  period.  One  of  his  students, 
Heinrich  Schmidt,  brought  out  these  results  in  a  very  striking  form  by  conceiving 
the  whole  of  this  time  as  a  cosmic  day  ("  Schopfungstag  ")  of  twenty-four  equal 
parts  after  the  analogy  of  a  solar  day,  and  then  assigning  to  each  geological  period 
its  share  of  this  time  in  hours  and  minutes.  The  humiliating  conclusion  is  thus 
reached  that  the  traditional  6000  years  of  human  history  ("  Weltgeschichte  ") 
occupy  five  seconds  of  the  cosmic  day. 

It  occurred  to  me  to  give  to  this  cosmological  perspective  a  graphic  representation 
by  means  of  a  dial,  and  I  prepared  one  and  have  used  it  in  lectures  on  the  geological 
history  of  plants.  In  the  light  of  all  the  discussion  of  the  age  of  the  earth  I  adopted  a  still 
more  conservative  estimate,  placing  the  total  at  72,000,000  years.  The  Hon.  Charles  D. 
Walcott,  Director  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey,  in  his  address  as  Vice- 
president  of  the  Geological  Section  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Science  in  1893,  went  into  a  thorough  discussion  of  this  question  from  all 


C1I.  Ill] 


THE   SUBJECT-MATTER   OF   SOCIOLOGY 


39 


the  sociologist  may  forget  the  paltry  littleness  of  each  increment  to 
civilization  and  the  still  more  paltry  motives  that  inspired  it,  and 
study  the  monument  that  the  race  has  thus  erected,  classifying  each 
stratum,  as  does  the  geologist,  and  working  out  the  stages  of  hu- 
man culture.  But  the  sociologist  has  an  advantage  over  the 
geologist.  The  latter  finds  the  world  completed,  so  far  as  need  concern 
him.  The  whole  period  of  human  occupation  counts  for  nothing  in 
geologic  time,  and  it  is  idle  for  him  to  speculate  even  as  to  the  future 
of  the  life  that  has  been  entombed  in  the  rocks  or  now  occupies  the 
earth's  surface.  But  the  sociologist  deals  with  a  fresh  young  world. 
He  can  see  it  grow,  and  he  has  a  perfect  right  not  only  to  specu- 
late as  to  the  future  of  society  but  also  to  try  to  accelerate  its 
growth,  on  what  I  may  call  the  Mori ey an  principle  above  set 
forth. 


points  of  view  (see  the  Proceedings,  Vol.  XLII,  pp.  129-169),  and  conceded  more  to 
the  physicists  and  astronomers  than  any  other  geologist  has  done,  reducing  the  time 
scale  to  55,000,000  years.  He  showed  that  the  theories  from  the  cooling  of  the  globe 
and  from  the  thickness  of  the  strata  are  in  practical  harmony  both  as  to  the  abso- 
lute time  and  also  as  to  the  relative  lengths  of  the  geological  periods.  While  the 
former  was  made  much  less  than  geologists  generally  demand,  the  latter  may  be 
accepted  with  as  much  confidence  as  any  of  the  estimates  dealing  with  this 
problem.  I  have  substantially  adopted  them  in  the  following  scheme.  On  the  basis 
of  72,000,000,  each  hour  of  the  cosmic  day  represents  3,000,000  years,  and  we  have  : 


GEOLOGIC  PERIODS 

YEARS 

HOURS 

Archean 

18,000,000 

6 

Algonkian 

18,000,000 

6 

Cambrian 

6,000,000 

2 

Silurian 

6,000,000 

2 

Devonian 

6,000,000 

2 

Carboniferous 

6,000,000 

2 

Triassic 

3,000,000 

1 

Jurassic 

3,000.000 

1 

Cretaceous 

3,000,000 

1 

Cenozoic 

3,000,000 

1 

72,000,000 

24 

The  Cenozoic,  including  the  Pleistocene  or  Quaternary,  may  then  be  further  sub- 
divided. The  Tertiary  need  not  be  divided  into  Eocene,  Miocene,  and  Pliocene,  but 
it  is  important  to  estimate  the  length  of  the  glacial  periods.  Haeckel  doubtless 
gives  too  little  time  to  these  events  (100,000  years).  The  minimum  estimates 
exceed  twice  that,  and  300,000  years  is  about  an  average.  The  human  period, 
i.e.  the  utmost  that  any  one  will  concede  for  human  history,  is  not  usually  considered 
by  geologists,  and  is  left  to  the  ethnologists  and  archaeologists.  We  may  put  it  at 
25,000  years,  while  6000  years  is  generally  recognized  as  covering  the  entire  historic 


40 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


[PART  i 


We  see,  then,  that  the  results  of  human  effort  in  bringing  about 
civilization  may  all  be  comprehended  under  the  single  word  achieve- 
ment, for  it  is  the  sum-total  of  human  achievement  that  we  call 
civilization.  And  while  achievement  is  exclusively  the  work  of 
individual  men,  it  can  only  take  place  in  a  social  state  of  coopera- 
tion on  a  grand  scale,  and  it  is  impossible  if  the  series  of  results 
is  ever  allowed  to  be  interrupted.  In  the  genealogical  tree  of 
social  evolution  no  side  branches  can  persist  unless  they  are  kept 
constantly  nourished  by  direct  contact  with  the  main  trunk.  The 
nature  of  social  evolution  as  of  all  organic  evolution  will  be  dealt 
with  in  Chapter  V,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  here  that  it  is  very 
different  from  the  prevailing  conception  of  evolution.  But  we 
cannot  regard  those  leading  civilizations  that  have  separated  off 
territorially  from  the  main  trunk  and  carried  with  them  all  the 
culture  of  the  mother  country,  such  as  the  American  and  Australian 
civilizations,  as  mere  branches.  They  belong  to  the  tree  itself 

period,  or  that  for  which  there  are   any  real  records.     Including  these  in  the 
Cenozoic  we  have  :  — 


GEOLOGIC  PERIODS 

YKABS 

HOURS 

MINUTES 

SECONDS 

Tertiary 
Pleistocene 
Human 

Total  Cenozoic 

2,675,000 
300,000 
25,000 

53 
6 

30 
30 

3,000,000 

1 

Human  History 

6,000 

n 

DIAL-OF-THE- COSMIC-DAY 
-ACE-OF-THE-EARTH 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER  OF   SOCIOLOGY  41 

and  are  attached  to  it  by  every  organ  and  every  function  essential 
to  the  whole. 

Although  every  act  must  in  strict  science  be  recognized  as  the 
resultant  of  all  the  forces,  internal  and  external,  acting  upon  the 
agent,  still  it  remains  true  that  achievement  is  the  work  of  individ- 
uals thus  acting,  and  although  from  this  scientific  point  of  view 
there  can  be  no  praise  nor  blame,  no  room  for  criticism  and  no 
justification  for  eulogy,  still  there  are  all  degrees  in  the  value  and 
meritoriousness  of  human  acts  corresponding  to  the  extent  to  which 
they  contribute  to  the  general  result,  and  such  acts  therefore  become 
proper  subjects  for  study  and  analysis.  Such  study  and  analysis, 
sympathetically  pursued,  tend  rather  to  enhance  one's  opinion  of 
men's  actions  and  supply  a  certain  corrective  to  the  pessimistic 
tendencies  above  pointed  out.  We  find  that  for  the  most  part  those 
acts  which  have  proved  to  constitute  real  contributions  to  civiliza- 
tion have  emanated  from  motives  of  a  high  order,  —  I  do  not  mean 
morally,  but  psychologically.  They  have  as  their  basis  a  psychic 
rather  than  a  physical  interest.  As  soon  as  men  rise  to  the  con- 
templative stage  of  development,  which  occurs  very  early  under 
a  system  of  caste,  which  is  the  first  to  grow  up  under  the  operation 
of  the  struggle  of  races  that  almost  universally  prevailed,  the 
psychic  or  transcendental  interest  is  developed.  The  brain  takes 
the  place  of  the  stomach  and  loins  as  a  center  of  feeling,  and  there 
arise  mental  cravings,  which  constitute  as  effective  social  forces  as 
hunger  and  love.  The  history  of  the  world  bears  out  this  statement, 
and  under  these  sociogenetic  forces  (see  Chapter  XV)  art,  philosophy, 
literature,  industry,  and  science  came  gradually  into  existence  and 
combined  in  the  work  of  human  achievement. 

Under  the  operation  of  these  forces  the  chief  ambition  of  all 
vigorous  minds  and  enlightened  spirits  became  that  of  contributing 
something  to  the  great  stream  of  civilization.  It  is  for  this  to-day 
and  not  for  pelf,  that  the  student  burns  the  midnight  oil,  that  the 
genius  sweeps  the  skies  of  fancy,  that  the  philosopher  probes  the 
depths  of  nature,  that  the  inventor  tests  the  properties  of  substances 
and  the  actions  of  forces,  that  the  specialist  in  any  branch  of  science 
delves  deeper  than  any  of  his  predecessors.  It  is  said  that  the  love 
of  approbation  is  the  principal  motive,  and  this  may  be  admitted  to 
be  a  less  worthy  motive  than  the  love  of  achievement.  As  from 
the  standpoint  of  modern  psychology  all  motives  are  simply  func- 


42  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

tions  of  the  character  or  primordium  (Anlage) l  of  individuals, 
worthiness  is  equivalent  to  social  efficiency  or  effectiveness,  and  is 
here  only  used  in  that  sense.  Love  of  approbation  is  therefore  to 
be  welcomed  as  an  aid  to  other  motives  in  accomplishing  the  results. 
But  when  we  look  over  the  history  of  achievement  we  shall  find 
that  love  of  approbation  plays  a  less  prominent  role  than  would 
seem  from  an  observation  of  contemporary  workers.  The  beginnings 
of  all  great  achievements,  which  all  will  admit  to  be  the  most 
important  steps,  are  usually  laid  in  deep  obscurity  by  men  impelled 
by  motives  difficult  to  define.  No  doubt  the  idea  of  utility  is  a 
large  factor,  but  not  utility  to  self.  Mere  love  of  activity  and 
pleasure  in  mental  exertion  are  powerful  motives  arid  have  caused 
the  most  sustained  labor  often'  in  immensely  fertile  directions. 
Originality  is  difficult  to  distinguish  from  love  of  approbation, 
because  no  doubt  it  has  to  do  with  the  opinion  of  others.  The 
recluse  inventor  may  have  motives  closely  akin  to  those  of  the  ancho- 
ret or  the  non-religious  hermit.  He  does  not  care  or  expect  to  have 
his  actions  approved,  but  he  may  enjoy  the  sense  of  having  them 
observed,  or  even  ridiculed.  Let  any  one,  for  example,  try  to  analyze 
the  motives  that  actuated  Galvani  in  his  studies  of  frogs'  legs  and 
they  will  be  found  complex  in  the  extreme.  Did  he  even  dimly  fore- 
see the  era  of  electricity?  Perhaps.  But  one  thing  seems  certain. 
The  love  of  approbation  formed  no  part  of  his  motives.  His  work 
only  received  disapprobation  and  contempt.  We  might  instance 
other  celebrated  cases,  but  this  one  is  typical. 

It  was  much  the  same  way  with  the  older  philosophers.  Many 
wrote  without  thought  even  of  publication.  The  greater  part  of 
Leibnitz's  works  were  published  posthumously.  Descartes  sup- 
pressed his  most  important  work,  apparently  not  through  fear  of 
persecution,  but  from  doubt  as  to  whether  it  would  be  right  to  pub- 
lish it-  Many  eminent  persons  write  their  autobiographies  with  the 
condition  that  they  be  not  published  till  after  their  death.  Others 
write  extended  treatises  in  the  same  way,  as,  for  example,  Helvetius's 
work,  "  De  1'Homine,"  in  two  volumes. 

1  Only  biologists  have  thus  far,  to  my  knowledge,  discussed  the  question  of  a 
proper  English  equivalent  for  the  German  word  Anlage  (see  Nature,  Vol.  LVIII, 
Aug.  25,  1898,  p.  390 ;  Science,  N.S.,  Vol.  VIII,  Dec.  2,  1898,  p.  793).  The  German 
word  is  used  in  a  much  broader  sense  than  is  implied  in  these  discussions.  It  applies 
to  mind  and  society,  and  may  often  be  rendered  character  or  disposition  (French 
naturel).  It  is  here  the  intelligibel  Charakter  of  Kant,  or  rather  its  physical  basis. 


CH.  in]  THE   SUBJECT-MATTER   OF   SOCIOLOGY  43 

While  therefore  the  love  of  approbation  enters  into  the  motives 
of  men  it  is  usually  mingled  with  the  love  of  achievement,  which 
often  includes  the  idea  of  doing  some  good,  of  benefiting  mankind, 
etc.  The  desire  to  be  remembered  after  death,  or  in  remote 
future  ages,  must  be  very  strong  in  many.  This  seems  exactly 
intermediate  between  the  love  of  approbation  and  the  love  of  achieve- 
ment. It  is  the  love  of  approbation  in  the  form  of  ambition  to  be 
enrolled  after  death  on  the  scroll  of  immortal  fame  as  one  of  the 
contributors  to  the  monument  erected  to  the  work  of  the  world. 
And  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  feeling  of  being  once  in  the  great 
current  of  intellectual  progress  is  the  highest  and  most  powerful  of 
all  incentives. 

Thus  far  only  a  few  have  contributed  to  this  stream,  but  the  per- 
centage is  probably  increasing,  and  might  under  improved  social 
conditions  be  greatly  increased,  and  the  time  may  come  when  all 
may  at  least  aspire  to  the  honor  of  laying  some  small  offering  on  the 
altar  of  civilization.  As  the  ages  go  by  and  history  records  the 
results  of  human  action  it  becomes  clear  to  larger  numbers  that  this 
is  the  true  goal  of  life  and  larger  numbers  seek  it.  It  is  seen  that 
only  those  who  have  achieved  are  remembered,  that  the  memory  of 
such  grows  brighter  instead  of  dimmer  with  time,  and  that  these  names 
are  likely  to  be  kept  fresh  in  the  minds  of  men  forever.  Achieve- 
ment, therefore,  comes  to  constitute  a  form  of  immortality  and  has 
an  exceedingly  attractive  side.  This  hope  of  immortality  has  doubt- 
less formed  one  of  the  important  motives  in  all  ages,  but  as  the  hope 
of  a  personal  immortality  wanes  under  the  glare  of  scientific  truth, 
especially  of  biological  truth,1  there  is  likely  to  be  a  still  stronger 
tendency  in  this  direction. 

Whatever  other  forms  of  immortality  may  be  taught  and  believed  in, 
the  immortality  of  deeds  is  not  an  article  of  faith  but  a  demonstrated 
fact.  The  real  immortality  is  the  immortality  of  achievement. 
And  after  all  it  is  a  personal  immortality.  This  far  it  resembles 
Christian  immortality  in  that  only  a  few  attain  it.  Only  the  elect 
are  saved.  They  only  are  immortal  who  have  achieved.  As  in 
Christianity,  too,  immortality,  which  is  salvation,  may  be  aspired  to 
by  all,  nay,  in  some  degree,  it  may  be  attained  by  all. 

But  we  may  leave  the  apotheosis  of  achievement  to  the  rostrum 
and  be  content  to  view  it  in  its  strictly  scientific  aspects  as  a  concep- 
l  Cf.  Ernst  Haeckel,  "  Die  Weltrathsel,"  Bonn,  1899,  Chapter  XI. 


44  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

tion  of  the  subject-matter  and  true  end  of  sociology.  Our  treatment 
in  this  chapter  has  been  much  too  narrow,  and  to  some  it  may  not 
seem  to  be  a  framework  large  enough  to  contain  all  that  the  remain- 
ing chapters  aim  to  put  into  it.  I  can  only  say  that  it  is  so  intended, 
and  any  apparent  failure  in  this  respect  will  be  due  to  the  brevity  and 
imperfection  of  the  presentation  of  the  subject  in  the  present 
chapter.  It  is  probably  in  some  respects  better  to  have  thus  made 
the  pattern  scant  and  trust  to  the  reader  to  fill  out  the  neglected 
parts  as  the  conception  grows. 


CHAPTER  IV 
METHODOLOGY 

THE  basis  of  method  is  logic,  and  the  basis  of  logic  is  the  suffi- 
cient reason  or  law  of  causation.  The  object  of  method  is  clear- 
ness, and  what  is  logical  is  usually  clear.  At  least,  the  same  subject, 
however  abstruse  or  inherently  difficult,  will  be  clearer  of  compre- 
hension if  logically  presented  than  if  incoherently  presented.  This 
principle  lies  at  the  foundation  of  style.  I  always  observed  that  there 
was  the  greatest  difference  in  the  ease  with  which  I  could  read  dif- 
ferent authors,  although  all  masters  in  their  own  field,  but  it  was  a 
long  time  before  I  discovered  the  reason  for  this.  I  saw  that  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  language  I  was  reading,  for  it  was  easier  to 
follow  Haeckel's  German  than  Darwin's  English.  On  the  other  hand, 
Huxley's  English  was  exceedingly  easy  while  the  German  of  Sachs, 
for  example,  was  very  hard.  There  was  the  same  difference  with 
French  authors.  Finally  I  undertook  to  investigate  the  matter, 
and  I  soon  discovered  that  aside  from  all  embellishments  of  style, 
that  which  rendered  a  style  easy  was  the  strict  logical  sequence 
of  ideas.  In  Huxley  or  Haeckel,  if  any  one  will  look  into  it  he 
will  find  that  every  sentence  is  clearly  and  causally  linked  to  the 
sentence  that  precedes  it  and  so  naturally  follows  from  it  that  it 
requires  no  effort  of  the  mind  to  pass  from  one  to  the  other.  In 
difficult  styles  this  is  not  the  case.  There  are  either  complete 
breaks  in  the  chain  of  reasoning,  or  there  are  ellipses,  digressions, 
collateral  ideas,  or  neoterisms,  which  check  the  flow  of  thought 
and  impede  comprehension.  Usually  it  is  simple  incoherency  or 
lack  of  serial  order  in  the  arrangement  of  the  ideas  expressed,  in 
short,  defective  method. 

What  is  true  of  style  is  true  of  other  things.  It  is  especially 
true  of  education,  and  it  is  probable  that  something  like  double 
the  progress  could  be  made  by  pupils  and  students  of  all  grades, 
if  an  exact  logical  method  could  be  adopted  in  the  order  of  studies, 
so  that  every  new  study  would  naturally  grow  out  of  the  one  that 

45 


46  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAUT  r 

had  preceded  it.  But  every  large  subject  is  complex  and  embraces 
a  great  number  of  component  subjects,  and  if  it  is  carefully  looked 
into,  it  will  be  found  that  most  of  the  subordinate  subjects  can  be 
arranged  in  a  series  of  logically  connected  ideas  or  facts.  The  first 
duty  of  educationalists  should  be  to  arrange  all  the  branches  to  be 
taught  in  their  logical,  which  is  their  natural  order.  A  glance  at 
the  curriculum  of  any  school  system  or  institution  of  learning  will 
show  that  this  is  not  only  the  last  thing  to  be  thought  of,  but  that 
it  has  probably  never  been  thought  of. 

A  science  is  a  great  complex  subject  composed  of  many  subor- 
dinate or  component  subjects,  and  these  latter  may,  by  the  proper 
effort,  be  arranged  in  logical,  i.e.  causal  order,  and  the  science 
taught  in  this  order.  A  treatise  on  any  science  is  easy  or  hard  in 
proportion  as  this  is  done.  The  work  of  a  methodical  investigator 
can  be  instantly  distinguished  by  this  mark.  A  large  proportion 
of  the  scientific  specialists  in  all  departments  are  innocent  of  the 
use  of  method.  They  plunge  into  their  subject  at  any  point  and 
treat  those,  subjects  first  that  first  present  themselves,  regardless 
of  order  or  of  the  relation  of  parts.  Such  work,  however  able,  is 
difficult  to  use  and  entails  great  effort  on  all  who  labor  in  their 
field.  Once,  in  conversation  with  Prof.  Joseph  Le  Conte  some 
years  before  his  death,  I  spoke  of  his  continued  fruitful  labors  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  able  to  accomplish  as  much  as  when  he  was 
younger.  He  replied  that  he  could  accomplish  more,  because  what 
he  might  have  lost  in  strength  and  endurance  was  more  than  made 
up  in  method. 

The  need  of  method  increases  with  the  complexity  of  a  science. 
Sociology,  as  the  most  complex  of  all  the  sciences,  has  the  greatest 
need  of  it.  In  the  first  place  it  is  necessary  to  recognize  that  it  is  a 
science.  Very  few  seem  to  treat  it  as  if  it  was  a  true  science,  and  the 
sociologists  themselves  are  largely  responsible  for  the  opinion  that  so 
widely  prevails  that  sociology  is  not  a  science.  A  true  science  is 
a  field  of  phenomena  occurring  in  regular  order  as  the  effects  of 
natural  or  efficient  causes,  such  that  a  knowledge  of  the  causes 
renders  it  possible  to  predict  the  effects.  The  causes  are  always 
natural  forces  that  obey  the  Newtonian  laws  of  motion.  The  order 
in  which  the  phenomena  occur  constitutes  the  laws  that  govern  the 
science.  These  laws  must  be  studied  until  they  are  understood 
the  same  as  the  laws  of  gravitation,  heat,  light,  etc.,  in  physics  have 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  47 

been  studied.  In  sociology  there  is  a  disposition  to  deny  that  there 
are  any  such  laws,  forces,  or  efficient  causes.  There  are  always 
paradoxers  in  all  sciences,  but  in  social  science  it  is  especially 
common,  I  had  almost  said  fashionable,  to  question  or  deny  its 
claim  to  the  rank  of  a  science.  Some,  of  course,  will  have  nothing 
of  it.  Mathematicians  and  astronomers,  who  deal  with  the  most 
exact  of  all  the  sciences,  usually  have  no  patience  with  anything 
that  cannot  be  reduced  to  mathematical  precision.  I  once  heard 
an  eminent  astronomer  sneer  at  meteorology  because  the  Weather 
Bureau  often  fails  to  predict  the  weather  for  any  particular  place. 
Yet  it  may  be  questioned  which  of  these  two  sciences  is  the  more 
useful  to  man.  There  has  always  been  a  large  number  who  deny 
that  history  is  a  science.  Among  these  are  historians,  such  as 
Froude,  and  historical  economists  like  Dilthey.  Some  even  who 
believe  in  sociology  and  teach  it,  think  that  it  differs  generically 
in  this  respect  from  other  sciences.  Dr.  Ludwig  Stein,  for  ex-» 
ample,  maintains  that  we  can  only  arrive  at  probability  or  moral 
certainty,  and  that  there  are  no  laws,  only  rules.1 

The  favorite  standpoint  of  all  who  dispute  the  title  of  sociology 
to  rank  as  a  science  is  that  of  mathematics.  The  laws  of  astronomy, 
of  physics,  and  to  a  large  extent  of  chemistry,  can  be  reduced  to 
mathematical  notation.  The  assumption  is  that  anything  that  can- 
not be  so  reduced  cannot  be  a  science.  Comte,  who  was  himself 
primarily  a  mathematician,  protested  against  this  attitude  and  called 
it,  as  it  seems  to  me,  very  appropriately  "  materialism," 2  because, 
as  he  says,  "  it  tends  to  degrade  the  noblest  conceptions  and  assimi- 
late them  to  the  grossest,"  and  he  characterizes  the  abuse  of  mathe- 
matics as  the  initial  phase  of  materialism.  But  he  it  was  who 
pointed  out  that  mathematics  is  not  a  science  but  only  a  standard 
or  criterion.  It  is  a  measure  of  the  relative  "  positivity,"  i.e.  exact- 
ness, of  all  the  sciences. 

The  mathematicians,  astronomers,  and  physicists,  who  affect  to 
decry  sociology  because  not  sufficiently  exact  for  their  habit  of  think- 
ing, usually  overlook  biology,  which  they  conceive  as  simply  the 
study  of  plants  and  animals,  and  hence  proper  enough  and  quite 
innocent,  and  reserve  their  criticisms  for  psychology  and  sociology. 

1"Wesen  und   Aufgabe  der  Sociologie,"   Archiv  f.  syst.  Philosophic,  Bd.  IV, 
reprint  p.  12 ;  Annales  de  Vlnstitut  International  de  Sociologie,  Vol.  IV,  p.  291. 
2  "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  50,  472. 


48  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

But  all  they  say  of  these  would  be  equally  true  of  biology.  There 
has  been  no  greater  progress  in  reducing  the  phenomena  of  life  to 
exact  mathematical  form  than  there  has  in  so  reducing  those  of  mind 
and  society.  In  fact,  in  certain  departments  of  both  these  latter 
fields  there  has  been  more  progress  in  this  direction  than  in  any 
department  of  biology.  In  economics,  for  example,  and  in  statistical 
researches,  much  use  has  been  made  of  mathematics,  the  only  dan- 
ger being  that  of  abusing  this  method  and  making  the  apparently 
exact  results  stand  for  more  than  they  are  really  worth.  The  names 
of  Thiinen,  Gossen,  Cournot,  Walras,  and  Jevons,  are  intimately 
associated  with  the  highest  order  of  this  class  of  work.  The  ques- 
tion, however,  whether  the  broader  domain  of  social  activity  can  be 
thus  reduced  to  exact  notation  and  the  laws  of  society  formulated 
or  stated  in  equations,  has  only  recently  begun  to  be  agitated. 
Sociologists  are  duly  forewarned  of  attempting  this  by  the  failure 
of  the  old-time  political  economy,  which  established  an  "  economic 
man,"  impelled  simply  by  physical  want.  This  failure  was  due  in 
part  to  the  fact  that  there  never  was  such  a  being,  and  in  part 
to  the  fact  that  the  laborer  gradually  rose  in  the  social  and  psychic 
scale  until  his  physical  impulses  became  a  less  important  factor 
than  his  social  and  psychic  impulses,  for  which  their  formulas  were 
worthless. 

It  does  not  always  follow  that  because  the  phenomena  embraced 
by  a  science  are  subject  to  uniform  laws  they  can  always  be  reduced 
to  mathematical  formulas.  Only  a  comparatively  small  part  of 
physics  is  of  a  character  to  require  mathematical  treatment.  It  is 
still  less  so  in  chemistry.  Still,  the  laws  of  thermology,  electrology, 
and  chemistry  are  just  as  invariable  as  those  of  barology  and 
astronomy.  Uniform  laws  or  processes  are  the  essentials  of  a 
science.  Their  mathematical  expression  is  not  essential.  The 
sociologist,  therefore,  need  only  inquire  whether  society  is  a  domain 
of  uniform  laws.  That  it  should  not  seem  to  be  to  superficial 
observers  is  natural  enough. 

Before  proceeding  further,  I  will  formulate  the  principle  which, 
as  I  see  it,  underlies  the  proposition  that  sociology  is  a  true  science. 
It  is  that  in  the  complex  sciences  the  quality  of  exactness  is  only  percep- 
tible in  their  higher  generalizations.  This  is  a  different  thing  from  the 
other  truth  that  in  the  complex  sciences  safe  conclusions  can  only  be 
drawn  from  wide  inductions.  In  a  field  so  great  as  that  of  human 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  49 

society,  a  wide  induction  becomes  unmanageable.  The  number 
of  facts  to  be  dealt  with  is  so  great  that  they  bewilder  the  mind. 
Something  must  be  done  besides  accumulating  facts,  and  drawing 
conclusions  from  them.  A  mental  process  of  a  higher  order  must  be 
employed.  The  attempt  to  reason  from  the  facts  of  society  directly 
usually  results  in  error.  Conclusions  so  based  are  unsafe.  The  his- 
torical school  of  economists  sometimes  employ  this  method,  but  they 
do  not  agree  in  their  results,  and  often  err.  They  attempt  to  arrive 
at  truth  of  too  low  an  order  to  be  established  in  sociology.  It  is 
such  attempts  and  their  failures  that  bring  sociology  into  disrepute. 
If  a  sociologist,  for  example,  were  to  pretend  that  he  could  tell  from 
the  facts  of  society  how  a  prospective  election  would  result,  he  would 
be  making  an  unwarrantable  assumption.  This  is  why  sociology  can 
have  so  little  to  do  with  current  questions.  Their  solution  depends 
upon  too  many  minute  details  and  local  and  personal  conditions. 
All  the  sociologist  can  do,  even  in  applied  sociology,  is  to  lay  down 
certain  general  principles  as  guides  to  social  and  political  action. 
A  true  sociologist  will  scarcely  have  an  opinion  on  a  current  question. 

The  method  in  sociology  is  generalization.  Precisely  what  is  meant 
by  this  may  require  some  illustration.  It  is  essentially  the  process 
of  grouping  phenomena  and  using  the  groups  as  units.  Nature  works 
by  this  method,  for  example  in  chemistry,  where  it  is  believed  that 
the  higher  compounds  have  as  their  units  compounds  of  lower 
orders.  The  phenomena  of  society  are  omnipresent.  They  obtrude 
upon  the  view  at  every  turn.  We  exist  in  a  social  medium.  The 
facts  that  the  sociologist  must  use  are  spontaneously  supplied  to 
him  every  moment  and  everywhere.  He  need  not  go  in  search  of 
them.  The  ones  that  are  thus  hourly  thrust  upon  him  are  the  most 
important  of  all.  If  he  travel  through  all  lands  he  will  find  the 
same  facts.  What  he  will  find  additional  is  only  auxiliary  and 
valuable  for  comparative  study.  Yet  as  a  rule  only  the  sociologist 
or  true  student  of  society  really  sees  these  facts. 

The  sociologist  himself  finds  them  so  obvious  and  natural  that  it 
is  difficult  for  him  to  realize  their  importance.  Their  very  proxim- 
ity is  a  bar  to  their  full  comprehension.  I  have  called  this  "  the 
illusion  of  the  near,"  and  likened  it  to  the  difficulty  of  seeing  a  city 
or  a  forest  while  in  its  midst.  If  we  magnify  any  object  sufficiently 
it  loses  its  character.  A  tyro  with  a  microscope  always  uses  too  high 
a  power  and  thus  fails  to  obtain  the  desired  results.  The  relativity 


50  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  i 

of  magnitude  is  interesting  to  reflect  upon,  and  it  was  this  truth 
that  Dean  Swift  so  forcibly  illustrated  in  his  description  of  the  Lilli- 
putians and  the  Brobdingnagians. 

I  was  once  exploring  for  my  own  amusement  the  suburbs  of  a 
large  city  one  side  of  which  was  flanked  by  a  range  of  high  hills. 
I  climbed  over  the  ridges  and  was  descending  one  of  the  slopes  toward 
the  town  when  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  curious  structure  that 
seemed  to  me  without  meaning.  It  inclosed  nothing,  but  presented 
a  crude  fabric  of  large  timbers,  some  upright,  some  horizontal,  some 
strangely  crossing  each  other  and  rising  twenty  feet  or  more  above 
the  ground,  in  a  long  row  resembling  scaffolding,  but  without  obvious 
purpose.  They  had  been  partly  painted  white,  but  the  paint  had 
mostly  disappeared  from  long  exposure  to  the  elements.  I  pondered 
over  the  meaning  of  this  grotesque  structure  for  some  time,  and 
started  several  theories  (targets,  pyrotechnic  frames,  etc.),  none  of 
which  would  bear  analysis.  Finally  I  resumed  the  descent  of  the 
ridge  and  ultimately  found  myself  in  the  back  streets  of  the  city 
half  a  mile  from  the  spot  where  I  noted  the  timbers.  Being  inter- 
ested to  see  where  I  had  been  and  how  I  had  succeeded  in  getting 
down,  having  had  to  pursue  a  somewhat  winding  course  on  account 
of  obstacles,  I  turned  round  and  took  a  prolonged  view  of  the  long 
hillside,  noting  all  the  objects  that  had  attracted  my  attention.  I  was 
quite  sure  of  my  route,  but  there  was  one  object  standing  out  in  clear 
lines  against  the  green  hillside  that  caused  some  doubt,  as  I  had  not 
seen  it,  and  I  surely  would  have  noted  it  had  I  passed  near  it.  It 
was  a  clearly  depicted  name  of  a  firm  that  extensively  advertised  it- 
self in  the  city.  The  letters  were  all  perfect  and  the  words  stood  out 
with  great  distinctness.  After  puzzling  awhile  it  at  last  occurred  to 
me  that  this  was  the  strange  and  awkward  collection  of  timbers 
whose  meaning  and  purpose  I  had  failed  to  fathom.  A  more  typical 
case  of  the  illusion  of  the  near  I  have  never  met  with,  and  as  I  had 
already  formulated  that  phrase  and  illustrated  it  as  fully  as  possi- 
ble I  congratulated  myself  upon  this  new  and  unexpected  example. 

That  which  is  near  seems  to  lack  symmetry  and  definiteness.  It 
presents  a  great  mimber  of  apparently  dissimilar  and  heterogeneous  ob 
jects.  These  objects  seem  to  have  no  other  relations  than  those  of 
coexistence,  distance,  direction,  and  position.  They  do  not  seem  to 
have  any  order.  To  see  order  in  them  it  is  necessary  to  view  them  at  a 
distance.  We  do  not  apply  the  term  landscape  to  what  is  close  around 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  51 

us.  That  is  only  landscape  to  persons  some  distance  away.  Beauty 
is  almost  a  synonym  of  order.  If  objects  are  far  enough  off  to  reveal 
the  order  they  possess  they  are  usually  beautiful.  The  enchantment 
that  distance  lends  is  the  response  of  our  faculties  to  the  order  pre- 
sented, for  the  mind  naturally  loves  the  symmetrical.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  human  mind  is  nowhere  better  illustrated  than  in  the 
difference  between  the  savage  and  the  civilized  man  in  their  ideas  of 
beauty.  The  savage  loves  small  artificial  objects  like  beads,  rings, 
medallions,  trinkets,  etc.,  but  he  sees  no  beauty  in  rivers,  groves, 
mountains,  or  clouds.  This  is  because  his  causality  is  not  sufficiently 
developed  to  see  order  or  regularity  in  them.  But  the  developed 
mind  admires  landscapes  because  it  can  resolve  the  parts  into  wholes 
and  grasp  the  relations  that  bind  them  together.  A  mountain,  seen 
at  a  distance,  is  a  symmetrical  object  of  rare  beauty,  but  when  one 
is  climbing  it  the  rocks  and  crags,  the  ridges  and  gulches,  the  trees, 
bushes,  briers,  and  prostrate  logs,  constitute  a  disordered  mass  of 
obstructions  to  which  the  term  beauty  does  not  apply.  An  inverted 
field  glass  is  a  tolerable  substitute  for  distance  in  bringing  order  out 
of  chaos  and  causing  near  objects  to  arrange  themselves  in  agreeable 
form.  It  simply  removes  them  to  the  same  degree  that  the  same 
field  glass  employed  in  the  normal  way  brings  them  up  to  the 
observer. 

The  effect  of  distance,  or  its  equivalent,  may  be  called  intensive, 
as  opposed  to  the  extensive  effect  of  proximity.  In  the  latter  we 
only  see  surface  and  extension,  in  the  former  we  see  causation.  It 
may  be  likened  to  the  different  wave  lengths  that  cause  different 
colors.  It  may  be  illustrated  mechanically  in  the  gearing  of  machin- 
ery, where  -the  little  wheels,  whose  surfaces  must  travel  the  same 
distance  as  those  of  the  large  wheels,  may  describe  a  thousand 
revolutions  while  the  latter  are  describing  one.  This  is  the  type  of 
intensive  motion  in  general.  If  the  quantity  of  motion  is  unchange- 
able in  the  universe,  as  the  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy  seems 
to  require  us  to  suppose,  the  effect  of  confining  motion  is  necessarily 
to  increase  the  intensive  at  the  expense  of  the  extensive  changes.  As 
the  paths  are  shortened  the  number  of  circuits  is  increased,  and 
motion  of  translation  is  finally  converted  into  molecular  motion,  as  it 
is  called.  This  usually  increases  the  efficiency,  or  ability  to  do  work. 
The  effects  of  motion  as  a  cause  become  apparent.  Here  again 
intensity  is  causation. 


52  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

The  same  principle  applies  in  matters  of  sound  as  in  those  of 
sight.  If  a  string  is  stretched,  as  in  a  stringed  instrument,  and 
struck  it  gives  forth  a  sound  corresponding  to  the  amplitude  of  the 
vibration  of  the  string,  which  in  turn  depends  upon  its  length.  If  it  be 
shortened  by  pressing  it  at  any  point  with  the  finger,  as  in  fingering, 
the  pitch  is  raised  proportionally,  on  account  of  the  diminished 
amplitude  of  the  vibrations.  The  sound  becomes  more  intense. 
Any  desired  tone  may  thus  be  produced.  As  the  vibrations  become 
shorter  they  are  more  rapid,  and  we  have  another  illustration  of  con- 
fined motion.  The  physical  laws  of  all  this  are  of  course  well 
known.  They  were  mostly  worked  out  by  Pythagoras.  I  only  wish 
to  show  that  they  are  merely  examples  of  a  general  law  of  universal 
application. 

Besides  these  examples  within  the  range  of  the  organs  of  sense 
there  are  examples  which  can  only  be  cognized  by  the  mind.  The 
mind  appropriates  truth  as  naturally  as  the  body  appropriates 
nourishment.  Its  ability  to  do  so  depends  on  two  elements,  its 
inherent  capacity  or  power  and  its  equipment.  These  two  together 
constitute  intelligence,  as  distinguished  from  intellect  on  the  one  hand 
and  knowledge  on  the  other.  As  intelligence  develops  the  ability 
to  generalize  increases  and  the  stage  is  at  length  reached  at  which 
the  mind  sees  much  that  the  senses  cannot  apprehend.  With  the 
progress  of  science  this  power  is  enormously  enhanced  and  the  true 
interpretation  of  nature  begins.  We  must  be  content  with  a  very 
few  illustrations  from  physical  phenomena. 

The  early  pastoral  races  of  the  East  learned  much  about  the 
heavens  as  they  lay  out  under  the  starry  sky  tenting  their  flocks. 
But  their  synthetic  powers  wasted  themselves  in  the  fanciful  group- 
ing of  the  stars  into  constellations  that  possess  no  scientific  signifi- 
cance. The  galaxy  or  milky  way  was  of  course  an  object  of  their 
constant  attention,  but  in  their  ignorance  of  the  general  constitution 
of  the  universe  they  never  framed  any  theory  to  explain  it.  It  re- 
mained for  science  to  propose  such  a  theory,  and,  so  far  as  I  know, 
only  one  has  been  proposed.  I  do  not  vouch  for  it,  but,  assuming 
it  to  be  true,  I  use  it  as  showing  the  power  of  the  mind  in  possession 
of  certain  facts  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos.  This  theory  is,  as  the 
reader  doubtless  knows,  that  our  solar  system  belongs  to  a  more  or 
less  definitely  circumscribed  universe  or  great  body  of  stars;  that 
this  stellar  aggregate  possesses  a  somewhat  lenticular  shape;  and 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  53 

that  our  solar  system  is  not  located  at  the  center  of  its  shorter  axis 
but  some  distance  to  one  side  of  the  center.  This  theory  seems  to 
account  for  the  majority  of  the  facts  presented  by  sidereal  astron- 
omy, and  explains  the  milky  way  as  simply  the  effect  produced  by 
looking  in  the  direction  of  the  thin  edges  of  the  lens  where  a  so  much 
larger  number  of  stars  naturally  come  into  view  than  when  looking 
in  the  direction  of  its  sides,  or,  as  it  were,  out  into  empty  space. 
We  thus,  by  a  pure  act  of  the  mind,  gain  an  orderly  conception  of 
the  universe,  which  may  be  contrasted  with  the  chaotic  conceptions 
that  formerly  prevailed,  or  that  must  be  entertained  by  any  person 
of  reflective  habits  unacquainted  with  this  theory. 

The  distribution  of  land  and  water  on  the  surface  of  the  earth 
must  appear  devoid  of  order  to  the  child  who  first  sees  a  map  of  the 
world  or  a  globe.  It  so  appears  to  many  persons  of  mature  years 
who  do  not  reflect  or  who  have  never  had  its  relations  pointed  out. 
Yet  most  scientific  geographers  see  in  it  the  operation  of  a  great 
law.  To  the  geologist,  especially  one  who  has  given  special  atten- 
tion to  that  modern  branch  of  geology  called  physiography,  this 
action  of  law  is  much  more  clear  still  than  to  those  who  study  only 
surface  phenomena.  If  with  all  this  is  combined  a  philosophical 
conception  of  the  origin  of  the  different  planets  of  the  solar  system 
and  the  causes  affecting  the  crust  of  the  earth,  the  wrinkling  due  to 
shrinkage,  etc.,  the  epeirogenic  and  orogenic  conditions  become  clear, 
and  a  knowledge  of  the  causes  lends  a  charm  to  studies  of  this  kind. 
The  oceans  and  seas,  the  island  groups,  the  continents,  and  the 
mountain  chains  become  systems  definitely  related  to  one  another, 
and  an  orderly  method  is  seen  to  pervade  all  the  phenomena  of  the 
earth's  surface  and  the  earth's  crust. 

Passing  over  chemistry,  which,  in  its  hierarchy  of  combinations 
—  elements,  inorganic  compounds,  organic  compounds,  each  a  sub- 
hierarchy  in  itself  —  has  furnished  us  with  the  very  principle  of 
generalization ;  and  biology,  where,  from  the  multiplicity  of  organic 
forms,  no  progress  can  be  made  without  classification,  which  is  gen- 
eralization, we  may  enter  at  once  the  domain  of  anthropology  and 
find  the  same  truth  exemplified  at  every  point.  What  Dr.  Edward 
B.  Tylor  has  called  "ethnographic  parallels,"  viz.,  the  occurrence 
of  the  same  or  similar  customs,  practices,  ceremonies,  arts,  beliefs, 
and  even  games,  symbols,  and  patterns,  in  peoples  of  nearly  the 
same  culture  at  widely  separated  regions  of  the  globe,  proves,  except 


54  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

in  a  few  cases  of  known  derivation  through  migration,  that  there  is 
a  uniform  law  in  the  psychic  and  social  development  of  mankind  at 
all  times  and  under  all  circumstances.  The  details  will  vary  with 
the  climate  and  other  physical  differences  in  the  environment,  but 
if  we  'continue  to  rise  in  the  process  of  generalization  we  will  ulti- 
mately reach  a  plane  on  which  all  mankind  are  alike. 

Even  in  civilized  races,  including  the  most  enlightened  modern 
peoples,  there  are  certain  things  absolutely  common  to  all.  The 
great  primary  wants  are  everywhere  the  same  and  they  are  sup- 
plied in  substantially  the  same  way  the  world  over.  Forms  of 
government  seem  to  differ  immensely,  but  all  governments  aim 
to  attain  the  same  end.  Political  parties  are  bitterly  opposed, 
but  there  is  much  more  on  which  all  agree  than  on  which  they 
differ.  Creeds,  cults,  and  sects  multiply  and  seem  to  present 
the  utmost  heterogeneity,  but  there  is  a  common  basis  even  of 
belief,  and  on  certain  occasions  all  may  and  sometimes  do  unite 
in  a  common  cause. 

Not  only  are  the  common  wants  of  men  the  same,  but  their 
passions  are  also  the  same,  and  those  acts  growing  out  of  them 
which  are  regarded  as  destructive  of  the  social  order  and  con- 
demned by  law  and  public  opinion  are  committed  in  the  face  of 
these  restraining  influences  with  astonishing  regularity.  This 
is  not  seen  by  the  ordinary  observer,  and  every  crime  or  breach 
of  order  is  commonly  looked  upon  as  exceptional  and  arouses 
great  local  or  general  interest  according  to  its  nature  and  the 
circumstances  attending  it.  But  when  accurate  statistics  are 
brought  to  bear  upon  this  class  of  social  phenomena  they  prove 
to  be  quite  as  uniform,  though  not  quite  so  frequent,  as  the 
normal  operations  of  life.  Even  the  most  extraordinary  occur- 
rences, such  as  the  killing  of  an  aged  parent  by  a  child  or  the 
marriage  of  brother  and  sister,  actually  occur  once  in  about  so 
long,  or  so  as  to  form  a  certain  percentage  of  the  homicides  or 
marriages.  There  is  a  law  of  deviation  from  a  mean,  upon  which 
Galton  lays  great  stress,  which  explains  such  cases.  In  dealing 
with  prodigies  in  the  last  chapter  we  encountered  one  aspect  of  this 
law.  Fanatics  illustrate  another  aspect  of  it.  When  any  question 
agitates  the  public  mind  there  is  a  great  central  mass  of  men  who 
take  an  ordinary  enlightened  interest  in  it.  Below  these  there  is  a 
body  of  persons  experiencing  an  interest  diminishing  in  degree  until 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  55 

it  practically  vanishes.  Above  the  mean  there  is  a  certain  number 
with  whom  the  interest  is  greater,  and  this  rises  with  diminishing 
numbers  until  there  is  reached  a  point  at  which  a  very  few  persons 
are  wholly  engrossed  in  the  question.  There  may  be  one  so 
completely  absorbed  as  to  be  capable  of  committing  a  terrible  crime, 
such  as  assassination.  This  is  probably  the  true  psychological 
explanation  of  all  three  of  the  presidential  assassinations  in  the 
United  States.  Such  acts  might  be  represented  geometrically  as 
forming  the  apex  of  a  curve,  or  the  maximum  deviation  from  the 
mean.  Even  assassinations  are  regular  social  phenomena,  as  any 
one  may  see  by  casting  a  glance  backward  through  less  than  half  a 
century.  This  does  not  mean  that  they  cannot  and  should  not  be 
prevented  by  every  power  society  possesses,  nor  does  it  mean  that 
any  crime  may  not  be  utterly  eradicated  by  appropriate  social 
action.  In  fact  all  history  proves  that  the  forces  underlying 
crime,  as  well  as  many  actions  that  are  not  criminal,  have  been 
gradually  drawn  off  into  other  channels,  or  in  scientific  phrase, 
commuted,  by  civilizing  agencies. 

The  ordinary  events  of  life  go  unnoticed,  but  there  are  certain 
events  that  are  popularly  regarded  as  extraordinary,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  the  newspapers  every  day  devote  more  than  half 
their  space  to  them.  One  would  suppose  that  people  would  some- 
time learn  that  fires,  and  railroad  accidents,  and  mine  disasters, 
and  boiler  explosions,  and  robberies,  and  defalcations,  and  murders, 
as  well  as  elopements,  liaisons  in  high  life,  seductions,  and  rape, 
were  normal  social  phenomena,  after  reading  of  nearly  every  one 
of  these  and  hundreds  of  other  similar  events  every  day  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  a  lifetime.  But  this  enormous  mass  of 
evidence  has  no  effect  whatever  in  dispelling  the  popular  illusion 
that  such  events  are  extraordinary,  and  the  octogenarian  whose 
eyesight  will  permit  still  pores  over  the  daily  news,  as  it  is  called, 
with  the  same  intense  interest  as  when  he  was  a  youth.  There 
is  nothing  new  in  "  news  "  except  a  difference  in  the  names.  The 
events  are  the  same.  It  was  this  that  Schopenhauer  meant  when 
he  said  that  history  furnishes  nothing  new  but  only  the  continual 
repetition  of  the  same  thing  under  different  names.  And  this  is 
what  is  meant  by  generalization.  We  have  only  to  carry  it  far 
enough  in  order  to  arrive  at  unity.  Society  is  a  domain  of  law, 
and  sociology  is  an  abstract  science  in  the  sense  that  it  does  not 


56  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  i 

attend  to  details  except  as  aids  in  arriving  at  the  law  that  under- 
lies them  all. 

This  has  been  called  the  historical  perspective.  It  is  the  discovery 
of  law  in  history,  whether  it  be  the  history  of  the  past  or  the  pres- 
ent, and  including  under  history  social  as  well  as  political  phe- 
nomena. There  is  nothing  very  new  in  this.  It  is  really  the  oldest 
of  all  sociological  conceptions.  The  earliest  gropings  after  a  social 
science  consisted  in  a  recognition  of  law  in  human  affairs.  The 
so-called  precursors  of  sociology  have  been  those  who  have  per- 
ceived more  or  less  distinctly  a  method  or  order  in  human  events. 
All  who  have  done  this,  however  dimly,  have  been  set  down  as  the 
heralds  of  the  new  science.  Such  adumbrations  of  the  idea  of  law 
in  society  were  frequent  in  antiquity.  They  are  to  be  found  in 
ihe  sayings  of  Socrates  and  the  writings  of  Aristotle.  Lucretius 
sparkles  with  them.  In  medieval  times  they  were  more  rare,  and 
we  scarcely  find  them  in  St.  Augustine,  but  Ibn  Khaldun,  a  Sar- 
acen of  Tunis,  in  the  fourteenth  century  gave  clear  expression 
to  this  conception.1  His  work,  however,  was  lost  sight  of  until 
recently,  and  Vico,  who  wrote  at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  and 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  was  long  regarded  as  the  true 
forerunner  of  Montesquieu.  Still,  there  were  many  others  both 
before  and  after  Vico,  and  passages  have  been  found  reflecting  this 
general  truth  in  the  writings  of  Machiavelli,  Bruno,  Campanella, 
Bacon,  Hobbes,  Locke,  Hume,  Adam  Smith,  Ferguson,  Fontenelle, 
Buffon,  Turgot,  Condorcet,  Leibnitz,  Kant,  Oken,  etc.  Before 
Comte  had  given  name  and  form  to  sociology  Saint-Simon,  Bastiat, 
Carey,  and  John  Stuart  Mill  had  more  or  less  clearly  formulated 
the  general  doctrine  of  historical  determinism,  and  the  philoso- 
phy of  history  had  received  wide  recognition.  The  theologically 
inclined,  when  this  truth  was  brought  home  to  them,  characterized 
it  by  the  phrase  "  God  in  history,"  and  saw  in  the  order  of  events 
the  divine  hand  guiding  the  acts  of  men  toward  some  predestined 
goal.  This  is  perhaps  the  most  common  view  to-day,  and  the  gen- 
eral optimism  of  mankind  furnishes  all  the  faith  necessary  to  harrno- 

1  "  Prolegomenes  historique  d'Ibn  Khaldoun."  Translated  from  the  Arabic  by 
M.  G.  de  Slane,  and  published  in  the  Notices  et  Extraits  des  Manuscrits  de  la 
Bibliotheque  Imperiale,  publics  par  1'Institut  de  France,  Vol.  XIX,  Pt.  I,  Paris, 
1862,  4°.  This  includes  an  autobiography  of  Ibn  Khaldun  and  his  entire  system  of 
historical  science,  in  which  many  of  the  leading  questions  now  under  consideration 
by  sociologists  are  discussed  from  an  enlightened  standpoint. 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  57 

nize  the  doctrine  with  the  scientific  law  of  human  evolution.  But 
science  deals  with  phenomena  and  can  only  deal  with  phenomena. 
Sociology,  therefore,  can  only  become  a  science  when  human  events 
are  recognized  as  phenomena.  When  we  say  that  they  are  due  to 
the  actions  of  men  there  lurks  in  the  word  actions  the  ghost  of 
the  old  doctrine  of  free  will,  which  in  its  primitive  form  asserts  that 
any  one  may  either  perform  a  given  action  or  not,  according  as  he 
may  will.  From  this  point  of  view  it  is  not  supposed  that  any 
event  in  human  history  needed  to  have  occurred.  If  the  men  whose 
actions  caused  it  had  willed  otherwise,  it  would  not  have  occurred. 
That  is,  the  old  form  of  the  doctrine  of  free  will  maintained  that 
men  might  have  willed  otherwise  than  they  did.  It  is  not  merely 
that  they  might  have  acted  differently  if  they  had  willed  to  do  so, 
but  that  they  might  have  willed  to  act  differently.  If  we  substitute 
wish  for  will,  as  of  course  we  may,  since  it  is  simply  a  peculiarity 
of  the  English  language  that  there  are  two  words  for  the  same 
thing  which  in  other  languages  is  expressed  by  the  same  word 
(yolere,  wollen,  vouloir,  etc.),  the  doctrine  becomes  that  men  might 
have  wished  to  act  otherwise  than  they  did  wish  to  act.  This  is  a 
violation  of  the  metaphysical  axiom  of  contradiction,  or  as  Sir 
William  Hamilton  more  correctly  calls  it,  non-contradiction.  That 
axiom  is  that  a  thing  cannot  both  be  and  not  be.  In  other  words 
the  old-fashioned  doctrine  of  free  will  assumes  that  men  may  act 
differently  from  what  they  do  act  irrespective  of  character  and 
environment.  If  this  were  so,  there  could  certainly  be  no  science 
•of  action,  no  philosophy  of  history,  no  sociology.  There  would  be 
no  social  phenomena  but  only  arbitrary  actions  due  to  no  true 
cause,  and  all  power  of  prevision  or  prediction  would  be  wanting.1^ 
As  opposed  to  this,  the  scientific  view  is  that  human  events  are 
phenomena  of  the  same  general  character  as  other  natural  phe- 
nomena, only  more  complex  and  difficult  to  study  on  account  of  the 
subtle  psychic  causes  that  so  largely  produce  them.  It  has  been 
seen  more  or  less  clearly  by  the  men  I  have  named  and  by  many 
others  that  there  must  be  causes,  and  the  philosophy  of  history 
that  gradually  emerged  from  the  chaos  of  the  existing  history  was 
simply  an  attempt  to  ascertain  some  of  these  causes  and  show  how 
they  produced  the  effects.  To  those  who  make  the  philosophy  of 

1  Cf.  Gumplowicz,  "Actions  ou  pMnomfenes,"  Revue  des  Revues  du  15  novembre, 

1895. 


58  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAHT  i 

history  coextensive  with  sociology,  this  is  all  that  sociology  implies. 
Certainly  it  was  the  first  and  most  essential  step  in  the  direction  of 
establishing  a  science  of  society.  The  tendency  at  first  was  strong 
to  discover  in  the  environment  the  chief  cause  of  social  variation, 
and  some  authors  sought  to  expand  the  term  climate  to  include 
all  this.  This  doctrine  had  its  advocates  and  was  of  course  car- 
ried too  far,  as  exemplified  in  the  saying  that  "mountains  make 
freemen  while  lowlands  make  slaves."  It  was  found  that  this  was 
only  half  of  the  truth,  that  it  took  account  only  of  the  objective 
environment,  while  an  equally  potent  factor  is  the  subjective  envi- 
ronment, and  that  the  ancient  saying,  codum  non  animum  mutant 
qui  trans  mare  currunt,  is  also  true.  Character,  however  acquired, 
is  difficult  to  change,  and  must  be  reckoned  with  in  any  attempt 
to  interpret  human  events.  Thus  expanded,  the  study  of  society 
from  this  point  of  view  becomes  a  true  science,  and  recently  it  has 
been  given  the  appropriate  name  of  mesology.  The  great  influence  of 
climate  and  physical  conditions  must  be  fully  recognized.  It  reaches 
back  into  the  domain  of  ethnology  and  physiology,  and  doubtless  ex- 
plains the  color  of  the  skin,  the  character  of  the  hair,  and  the  general 
physical  nature  of  the  different  races  of  men.  The  psychic  effects 
of  the  environment  are  scarcely  less  important,  and  the  qualities  of 
courage,  love  of  liberty,  industry  and  thrift,  ingenuity  and  intelli- 
gence, are  all  developed  by  contact  with  restraining  influences 
adapted  to  stimulating  them  and  not  so  severe  as  to  check  their 
growth.  The  social  effects  are  still  more  marked.  We  first  see 
them  in  the  phenomena  of  migration  and  settlement  and  the  ways 
in  which  men  adapt  themselves  to  the  conditions,  resources,  and 
general  character  of  the  region  they  may  chance  to  occupy.  The 
question  asked  by  the  traditional  boy  in  the  geography  class :  Why 
the  large  rivers  all  run  past  the  great  cities  ?  illustrates  how  clearly 
everybody  sees  natural  law  at  work  in  society.  It  is  the  laws  of 
society  that  determine  the  direction  and  character  of  migration  and 
settlement.  "  Laws,"  says  Montesquieu,  "  are  the  necessary  rela- 
tions that  are  derived  from  the  nature  of  things,"  *  and  this  is  pre- 
cisely the  sense  here  implied.  In  peoples  at  all  advanced  the  head 

1  "Les  loix,  dans  la  signification  la  plus  etendue,  sont  les  rapports  necessaires 
qui  derivent  de  la  nature  des  choses."  This  is  the  first  sentence  of  Montesquieu's 
principal  work,  "  de  1'Esprit  des  Loix."  CEuvres  de  Montesquieu,  Nouvelle  Edition, 
Tome  Premier,  Paris,  1788,  p.  1. 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  59 

of  navigation  of  rivers  is  usually  the  site  for  the  principal  towns. 
A  short  time  ago  when  water  was  more  used  than  now  as  a  power, 
there  was  usually  combined  with  the  advantages  offered  by  the  head 
of  navigation  (all  vessels  being  then  small),  the  additional  advan- 
tage of  the  fall  in  the  stream,  which  is  almost  always  greatest  at 
the  point  where  the  piedmont  plateau  joins  the  coastal  plain.  As 
streams  only  reach  base  level  after  emerging  upon  the  coastal  plain, 
this  sudden  fall  almost  always  occurs  a  short  distance  above  the 
head  of  navigation.  As  this  is  true  of  all  the  streams  that  drain  a 
continent,  a  line  may  be  drawn  through  this  point  on  all  the  rivers 
and  it  will  be  approximately  parallel  to  the  coast.  Such  a  line 
is  called  the  fall  line  and  it  is  a  law  of  populations  that  the 
first  settlements  of  any  country  take  place  along  the  fall  line  of  its 
rivers. 

There  are  many  laws  that  can  be  thus  illustrated,  and  careful 
observation  reveals  the  fact  that  all  social  phenomena  are  the 
results  of  laws.  But  the  fundamental  law  of  everything  psychic, 
and  especially  of  everything  that  is  affected  by  intelligence,  is  the 
law  of  parsimony.  It  has  its  applications  in  biology,  and  even  in 
cosmology,  which  1  need  not  stop  to  point  out,  but  it  was  first 
clearly  grasped  by  the  political  economists,  and  by  many  it  is 
regarded  as  only  an  economic  law.  Here  it  is  usually  called  the 
law  of  greatest  gain  for  least  effort,  and  is  the  basis  of  scientific 
economics.  But  it  is  much  broader  than  this,  and  not  only 
plays  an  important  role  in  psychology,  but  becomes,  in  that  col- 
lective psychology  which  constitutes  so  nearly  the  whole  of 
sociology,  the  scientific  corner-stone  of  that  science  also.  We 
have  seen  that  the  quality  of  scientific  exactness  in  sociology  can 
only  be  clearly  perceived  in  some  of  its  higher  generalizations, 
where,  neglecting  the  smaller  unities  which  make  its  phenomena 
so  exceedingly  complex,  and  dealing  only  with  the  large  composite 
unities  that  the  minor  ones  combine  to  create,  we  are  able  to  handle 
the  subject,  as  it  were,  in  bulk.  Here  we  can  plainly  see  the  rela- 
tions and  can  be  sure  of  their  absolute  uniformity  and  reliability. 
When  we  reach  the  law  of  parsimony  we  seem  to  have  attained  the 
maximum  stage  of  generalization,  and  here  we  have  a  law  as  exact 
as  any  in  physics  or  astronomy.  It  is,  for  example,  perfectly 
safe  to  assume  that  under  any  and  all  conceivable  circumstances 
a  sentient,  and  especially  a  rational  being  will  always  seek  the 


60  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  i 

greatest  gain,  or  the  maximum  resultant  of  gain  —  his  "marginal" 
advantage. 

Those  who  are  shocked  by  such  a  proposition  take  too  narrow  a 
view  of  the  subject.  They  think  that  they  themselves  at  least  are 
exceptions  to  the  law,  and  that  they  do  not  always  seek  their 
greatest  gain,  and  they  give  illustrations  of  actions  performed  that 
result  in  a  loss  instead  of  a  gain.  This  is  because  they  understand 
by  gain  only  pecuniary  gain,  or  only  gain  in  temporary  enjoyment  or 
immediate  satisfaction.  If  they  could  analyze  their  feelings  they 
would  see  that  they  were  merely  sacrificing  a  present  to  a  future 
advantage,  or  what  they  regard  as  a  lower  to  what  they  regard  as  a 
higher  satisfaction.  When  Henry  Clay  said  (if  he  did  say  it)  that 
"  every  man  has  his  price,"  l  he  may  have  merely  stated  this  law  in  a 
new  form.  If  we  make  the  important  qualification  that  the  "  price  " 
is  not  necessarily  a  money  price,  we  may  see  that  the  statement  con- 
tains a  truth.  Even  in  the  lobby,  which  he  probably  had  in  view, 
it  is  well  known  that  downright  bribery  is  very  rarely  resorted  to. 
It  is  among  the  least  effective  of  the  lobbyist's  methods.  There  are 
other  far  more  successful  ways  of  gaining  a  legislator's  vote.  Passes 
on  railroads  and  other  favors  of  that  kind  are  much  more  common, 
but  even  these  are  relatively  coarse  and  transparent,  and  the  great 
vested  interests  of  a  country  know  how  to  accomplish  their  ends  by 
much  more  subtle  means.  It  is  only  necessary  to  put  those  whom 
they  desire  to  influence  under  some  form  of  obligation,  and  this  is 
usually  easy  to  do.  Among  the  most  effective  means  to  this  end  are 
social  amenities  and  the  establishment  in  apparently  the  most  disin- 
terested ways  of  a  friendly  entente,  which  appeals  to  the  sense  of 
honor,  and  would  make  any  man  ashamed  to  act  contrary  to  the 
known  wishes  of  a  friend.  Under  such  powerful  sentiments  constitu- 
encies are  forgotten. 

But  this  is  by  no  means  the  whole  meaning  of  the  law.  It  deals 
solely  with  motives,  and  worthy  motives  are  as  potent  as  unworthy 
ones.  It  is  based,  it  is  true,  on  interests,  but  we  must  give  to  the 
term  interest  all  the  breadth  that  Ratzenhofer  does.  Interest  is  not 
always  bad.  It  is  much  more  frequently  good.  It  was  necessarily 
good,  at  least  for  the  individual,  in  the  beginning,  since  it  had  the 
mission  to  impel  life  and  race  preserving  activities.  Interest  may  be 

1  In  England  a  similar  phrase  is  commonly  ascribed  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  Cf. 
Coxe:  "Memoirs  of  Walpole,"  Vol.  IV,  p.  369. 


CH.  iv]  METHODOLOGY  61 

perverted,  but  this  is  the  exception.  Men  feel  an  interest  in  doing 
good,  and  moral  interest  is  as  real  as  any  other.  Ratzenhofer  shows 
that  men  have  been  profoundly  moved  by  what  he  calls  "  transcen- 
dental interests,"  which  he  defines  as  a  striving  after  the  infinite, 
and  to  this  he  attributes  the  great  religious  movements  in  society. 
If  therefore  we  take  into  account  all  these  different  kinds  of  interest, 
physical,  racial  (Cfattungsinteresse),  moral,  social,  and  transcendental, 
it  becomes  clear  that  all  action  is  based  on  supposed  gain  of  one  or 
another  of  these  orders.  Still,  the  world  has  never  reached  a  stage 
where  the  physical  and  temporary  interests  have  not  been  largely  in 
the  ascendant,  and  it  is  these  upon  which  the  economists  have  estab- 
lished their  science.  Self-preservation  has  always  been  the  first  law 
of  nature,  and  that  which  best  insures  this  is  the  greatest  gain. 
So  unerring  is  this  law  that  it  is  easy  to  create  a  class  of  paupers  or 
mendicants  by  simply  letting  it  be  known  that  food  or  alms  will 
be  given  to  those  who  ask.  All  considerations  of  pride  or  self-respect 
will  give  way  to  the  imperious  law  of  the  greatest  gain  for  the  least 
effort.  All  notions  of  justice  which  would  prompt  the  giving  of  an 
equivalent  vanish  before  it,  and  men  will  take  and  use  what  is  prof- 
fered without  thought  of  a  return  or  sense  of  gratitude.  In  this 
respect  men  are  like  animals.  In  fact,  this  is  precisely  the  principle 
that  underlies  the  domestication  of  animals  and  the  taming  of  wild 
beasts.  So  soon  as  the  creature  learns  that  it  will  not  be  molested 
and  that  its  wants  will  be  supplied,  it  submits  to  the  will  of  man 
and  becomes  a  parasite.  Parasitism,  indeed,  throughout  the  organic 
world  is  only  an  application  of  the  law  of  parsimony. 

While  therefore  no  law  can  be  laid  down  as  to  how  any  individ- 
ual will  act  under  a  given  set  of  circumstances,  in  consequence  of 
the  enormous  number  and  variety  of  causes  that  combine  to  deter- 
mine any  single  act,  we  have  a  law  which  determines  with  absolute 
certainty  how  all  men  may  be  depended  upon  to  act.  If  there  is 
any  apparent  exception  to  this  law  we  may  be  sure  that  some  ele- 
ment has  been  overlooked  in  the  calculation.  Just  as,  in  the  case  of 
a  heavenly  body  which  is  observed  to  move  in  a  manner  at  variance 
with  the  established  laws  of  gravitation  and  planetary  motion,  the 
astronomer  does  not  doubt  the  universality  of  those  laws  but  attrib- 
utes the  phenomena  to  some  undiscovered  body  in  space  of  the 
proper  size  and  in  the  proper  position  to  cause  the  perturbation,  and 
proceeds  to  search  for  that  body ;  so  in  human  society,  if  there  are 


62  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTI 

events  that  seem  at  variance  with  the  fundamental  sociological  law 
of  parsimony,  the  sociologist  may  safely  trust  the  law  and  proceed 
to  discover  the  cause  of  the  social  perturbation. 

It  is  the  function  of  methodology  in  social  science  to  classify 
social  phenomena  in  such  a  manner  that  the  groups  may  be  brought 
under  uniform  laws  and  treated  by  exact  methods.  Sociology  then 
becomes  an  exact  science.  In  doing  this,  too,  it  will  be  found  that 
we  have  passed  from  chaos  to  cosmos.  Human  history  presents  a 
chaos.  The  only  science  that  can  convert  the  milky  way  of  history 
into  a  definite  social  universe  is  sociology,  and  this  can  only  be  done 
by  the  use  of  an  appropriate  method,  by  using  the  data  furnished 
by  all  the  special  social  sciences,  including  the  great  scientific  trunks 
of  psychology,  biology,  and  cosmology,  and  generalizing  and  coordi- 
nating the  facts  and  groups  of  facts  until  unity  is  attained. 


PART   II 
GENESIS 


CHAPTER  V 
FILIATION 

IT  has  become  customary  to  speak  of  the  hierarchy  of  the  sciences 
and  nearly  everybody  understands  what  the  expression  means.  For 
this  reason  it  does  no  harm  to  use  it  and  I  use  it  constantly  myself. 
Nevertheless,  if  we  examine  it  critically  we  find  that  it  will  not  bear 
analysis,  and  that  the  relation  subsisting  among  the  sciences  is  a 
very  different  one  from  that  expressed  by  the  word  hierarchy. 
A  hierarchy  is  a  relation  of  superiority  and  subordination  such  as  is 
expressed  in  the  word  rank  as  applied,  for  example,  to  officers  of  an 
army.  It  is  also  the  same  as  is  involved  in  all  synoptical  classifica- 
tion, as  in  the  natural  sciences,  where  the  several  classific  groups 
(class,  order,  family,  genus,  species)  are  subordinated  to  one  another 
by  the  possession  of  characters  of  lower  and  lower  classificatory 
value.  This  is  what  may  be  called  logical  classification.  If  we  ex- 
amine the  relation  of  the  several  sciences  of  the  so-called  hierarchy 
(astronomy,  physics,  chemistry,  biology,  etc.)  we  at  once  perceive 
that  the  kind  of  superiority  or  subordination  is  generically  different 
from  that  subsisting  among  officers  of  an  army  or  among  classific 
groups  in  natural  history.  As  I  said,  nearly  everybody  knows  just 
what  the  nature  of  this  relation  is,  viz.,  one  of  diminishing  generality 
with  increasing  complexity,  and  therefore  no  one  stops  to  consider 
the  appropriateness  of  the  term  hierarchy  as  applied  to  it.  This, 
however,  may  be  called  serial  classification,  and  it  is  important  for 
many  reasons  to  insist  upon  the  complete  distinctness  of  these  two 
kinds  of  classification.  For  example,  Mr.  Spencer  dissented  from 
Comte's  classification  of  the  sciences  and  drew  up  one  of  his  own 
which,  he  claimed,  conflicted  with  Comte's.  But  Mr.  Spencer's 
classification  was  a  logical  one  while  Comte's  was  a  serial  one,  and 
it  was  impossible  for  them  to  conflict.  In  fact  they  afforded  no 
basis  of  comparison  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  the  truth  or  fal- 
sity of  either.1 

1 1  have  several  times  stated,  as  have  also  other  writers  (De  Greef,  "  Introd.  a  la 
Sociologie,"  I,  p.  5, 1886;  Dallemagne,  "  Principes  de  Sociologie,"  p.  36, 1886;  Hector 
F  65 


66  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Now,  what  concerns  the  sociologist  is  primarily  the  serial  order 
of  phenomena.  The  several  groups  of  phenomena  constituting  the 

Denis,  "  Revue  Int.  de  Sociologie,"  8e  annee,  1900,  p.  778),  that  notwithstanding  Mr. 
Spencer's  vigorous  disclaimer  of  any  indebtedness  to  Comte,  and  notwithstanding  his 
work  on  the  "  Classification  of  the  Sciences,"  he  had  virtually  admitted  the  correctness 
of  Comte's  serial  arrangement  by  arranging  his  own  subjects  in  practically  the  same 
order  ("  First  Principles,"  dealing  with  inorganic  nature,  Biology,  Psychology,  Sociol- 
ogy)- When  I  repeated  this  statement  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology  for 
July,  1895,  p.  18,  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Spencer  which  ought  to  be  made  public 
because  it  throws  a  flood  of  light  upon  a  number  of  obscure  questions  connected 
with  his  views  on  the  classification  of  the  sciences,  which  he  has  nowhere  made  clear 
in  his  works.  This  relates  especially  to  his  ideas  relative  to  the  relations  of  the  sim- 
pler sciences  dealing  with  inorganic  matter,  which  he  says  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
out  of  his  system  because  it  would  so  expand  it  that  he  could  not  hope  to  complete  it. 
I  have  felt,  too,  somewhat  keenly,  his  implied  censure  for  making  the  statement 
referred  to,  which  seemed  to  me  so  self-evident  that  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  it 
could  give  offense,  and  therefore  I  am  willing  to  let  the  world  know  what  the  points 
are  at  which  Mr.  Spencer  takes  exception,  and  I  therefore  give  his  letter  entire,  fol- 
lowed by  the  reply  that  I  made  to  it  after  mature  reflection :  — 

"64  AVENUE  ROAD,  REGENT'S  PARK,  LONDON,  N.W., 
"  Sept.  19, 1895. 

"Mr  DEAR  SIR:  I  have  just  received  a  copy  of  your  essay  on  'The  Place  of 
Sociology  among  the  Sciences,'  and  on  glancing  through  it  am  startled  by  some  of 
its  statements. 

"  1.  You  have  not,  I  presume,  read  my  essay  on  '  The  Genesis  of  Science ' ;  other- 
wise you  would  scarcely  say  that  Comte's  classification  represents  the  genetic  or 
serial  order  of  the  sciences.  You  would  have  found  that  it  is  in  that  essay  shown 
that  there  is  no  serial  order,  and  in  the  second  place  that  Comte's  classification  does 
not  at  all  represent  the  order  of  genesis,  numerous  facts  being  given  to  show  that  the 
evolution  of  the  sciences  was  no  such  succession  as  he  alleges. 

"2.  But  I  am  much  more  amazed  by  your  statement  respecting  Comte's  system 
that  '  Spencer  himself,  notwithstanding  all  his  efforts  to  overthrow  it,  actually 
adopted  it  in  the  arrangement  of  the  sciences  in  his  Synthetic  Philosophy.'  Now 
in  the  first  place,  if  you  will  look  at  my  essay  on  '  The  Genesis  of  Science,'  you  will 
see  that  the  first  two  great  groups  of  sciences  —  the  abstract,  containing  logic  and 
mathematics,  the  abstract-concrete,  containing  mechanics,  physics,  and  chemistry 
—  have  no  place  whatever  in  the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy.'  So  far  from  the  '  Synthetic 
Philosophy'  containing  them  in  the  order  in  which  Comte  places  them,  they  are  not 
there  at  all.  The  '  Synthetic  Philosophy '  concerns  exclusively  those  sciences  which 
I  class  as  concrete  sciences  —  the  sciences  which  have  for  their  subject-matters  actual 
concrete  existences  —  and  treats  of  each  one  not  in  respect  of  any  one  set  of  traits 
but  in  respect  of  all  its  traits. 

"  Setting  aside  the  fact  that,  as  I  have  pointed  out,  the  sciences  which  deal  with 
the  forms  of  phenomena  and  those  which  deal  with  their  factors,  make  no  appearance 
whatever  in  the  order  of  sciences  forming  the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy,'  there  is  the  fact 
that  even  if  the  sciences  as  involved  in  the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy  '  are  compared  with 
the  system  of  Comte  they  are  shown  to  be  wholly  incongruous  with  it.  If  you  will 
turn  to  the  original  preface  to  '  First  Principles,'  in  which  an  outline  of  the  '  Synthetic 
Philosophy '  is  set  forth  you  will  see  there,  between  the  programme  of  '  First  Prin- 
ciples '  and  the  programme  of  the '  Biology,'  a  note  in  italics  pointing  out  that  in  logical 
order  there  should  come  an  application  of  First  Principles  to  inorganic  nature,  and 
that  the  part  of  it  dealing  with  inorganic  nature  is  omitted  simply  because  the 


en.  v]  FILIATION  67 

true  "  hierarchy  "  of  the  sciences,  not  only  stand  in  the  relation  of 
diminishing  generality  with  increasing  complexity,  but  they  stand 

scheme,  even  as  it  stood,  was  too  extensive.  Two  volumes  were  thus  omitted  —  a 
volume  on  astronomy  and  a  volume  on  geology.  Had  it  been  possible  to  write  these 
in  addition  to  those  undertaken,  the  series  would  have  run  —  astronomy,  yeology, 
biology,  psychology,  sociology,  ethics.  Now  in  this  series  those  marked  in  italics  do 
not  appear  in  the  Comtian  classification  at  all.  In  the  part  of  the  '  Synthetic  Phi- 
losophy '  as  it  now  stands  the  only  correspondence  with  the  Comtian  classification  is 
that  biology  comes  before  sociology ;  and  surely  any  one  would  see  that  in  rational 
order  the  phenomena  presented  by  a  living  individual  must  come  before  those  pre- 
sented by  an  assemblage  of  such  living  individuals.  It  requires  no  leading  of  Comte 
for  any  one  to  see  this. 

"  3.  But  now  in  the  third  place,  I  draw  your  attention  to  Table  III  in  my  '  Classi- 
fication of  the  Sciences.'  There  you  will  see  that  the  order  of  the  works  already 
existing  in  the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy,'  and  still  better  the  order  in  which  they  would 
have  stood  had  the  thing  been  complete,  corresponds  exactly  with  the  order  shown 
in  that  table,  and  is  an  order  which  evolves  necessarily  from  the  mode  of  organiza- 
tion there  insisted  upon,  and  corresponds  also  to  the  order  of  appearance  in  time,  if 
we  set  out  with  the  nebular  condensation  and  end  with  special  phenomena.  The 
order  of  the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy '  does  not  correspond  with  that  of  Comte,  and 
it  does  correspond  with  the  order  shown  in  my  own  '  Classification  of  the  Sciences.' 
This  seems  to  me  undeniable  if  it  is  remembered  that  in  the  process  of  evolution 
there  were  astronomical  phenomena  before  there  were  geological ;  that  there  were 
geological  phenomena  before  there  were  biological  ;  that  there  were  biological 
before  there  were  psychological ;  that  there  were  psychological  before  there  were 
any  sociological  —  that  is  to  say,  the  order  as  shown  in  the  table  and  as  followed  in 
the  '  Synthetic  Philosophy '  is  the  order  of  actual  genesis  that  has  occurred  in  the 
course  of  universal  evolution. 

"lam 

"  Faithfully  yours 

"HERBERT  SPENCER. 

"LESTER  F.  WARD,  Esq." 

After  considerable  delay  I  replied  to  the  above  letter  as  follows :  — 

"  1464  R.  I.  AVE.,  WASHINGTON,  D.C.,  U.  S.  AMERICA. 

"Jan.  6,  1896. 
"Ma.  HERBERT  SPENCER,  LONDON. 

"  My  Dear  Sir:  I  received  your  letter  of  Sept.  19,  1895,  while  in  the  field  in  Cali- 
fornia, where  it  was  forwarded  to  me.  I  had  no  facilities  for  writing  at  the  time 
and  did  not  reach  Washington  till  well  into  November.  I  have  been  contemplat- 
ing a  reply  since  that  time,  but  partly  from  an  excess  of  work  of  various  kinds,  and 
partly  from  doubts  as  to  what  kind  of  a  reply  I  ought  to  make,  I  have  procrastinated 
until  now. 

"  I  do  not  hope  that  anything  I  could  say  would  be  satisfactory  to  you,  and  it 
seems  almost  useless  to  enter  into  a  full  discussion  of  the  points  involved.  Not  long 
ago  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Richard  Congreve,  relative  in  the  main  to  the  same 
article  you  criticize,  in  which  he  takes  me  almost  as  severely  to  task  as  you  do  for 
not  going  farther  in  the  same  direction  in  which  you  think  I  go  too  far.  Evidently 
if  I  had  tried  to  please  everybody  I  should  have  pleased  nobody,  and  matters  would 
have  been  no  better  than  they  are.  But  of  course  I  do  not  want  to  misquote  or  in 
any  way  misrepresent  any  one,  and  have  not  meant  to  do  so. 

"  The  series  of  articles  that  are  running  through  the  American  Journal  of  Socioloyy 
is  a  course  of  lectures  that  I  have  twice  delivered  at  the  Hartford  School  of  Sociology, 


68  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  ir 

in  the  relation  of  parent  to  offspring,  i.e.,  of  filiation.  The  more 
complex  sciences  grow  out  of  the  simpler  ones  by  a  process  of  differ- 
orally  in  1894,  and  in  their  present  form  in  November  last.  They  were  all  written 
out  before  I  left  Washington  in  August.  In  this  series  I  have  not  aimed  at  much 
originality,  and  only  wished  to  put  before  the  students  primarily,  but  also  the  numer- 
ous teachers  of  the  various  social  sciences  in  this  country,  some  general  outlines  and 
fundamental  principles,  most  of  which  have  been  stated  by  me  in  earlier  works.  All 
the  statements  you  criticise  have  been  made  by  me  before,  some  of  them  more  than 
once.  I  have  taken  extra  pains  to  put  my  writings  into  your  hands,  without,  how- 
ever, hoping  that  you  could  find  time  to  look  them  through.  Indeed,  you  have  writ- 
ten me  how  you  require  to  husband  your  mental  strength,  and  I  had  long  regarded 
the  sending  you  my  papers  as  merely  a  compliment,  which  I  would  have  been  deterred 
from  making  if  I  had  thought  you  would  waste  any  energy  on  them. 

"  I  have  always  maintained  that  Comte's  classification  was  a  true  genetic  one.  I 
said  all  I  have  to  say  on  this  point  in  '  Dynamic  Sociology,'  and  the  only  answer  I  can 
make  to  any  of  the  points  in  your  letter  is  contained  in  pages  143  to  149  of  the  first 
volume  of  that  work.  There  also  are  to  be  found  all  the  statements  in  the  article  to 
which  you  have  taken  exception.  Having  stood  there  over  twelve  years  unchallenged, 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  repeat  them  in  a  more  popular  form.  Although  Dr.  Youmans 
told  me  you  could  not  read  the  book,  it  was  to  be  supposed  that  you  would  at  least 
glance  at  the  first  few  pages  of  the  chapter  that  deals  especially  with  your  philoso- 
phy, and  it  is  these  pages  on  which  the  statements  all  occur.  Should  you  care  to  do 
so  now  you  will  see  that  I  recognized  the  omission  in  your  system  of  the  parts  relat- 
ing to  inorganic  nature,  which  I  have  always  regarded  as  unfortunate.  But  your 
'  First  Principles  'partly  supply  this  omission  and  impressed  me  with  your  recognition 
of  the  subordination  of  astronomical,  physical,  and  chemical,  to  biological  principles. 
Exactly  in  what  order  you  would  have  treated  these  departments  could  not  of  course 
be  told,  but  the  extent  to  which  you  base  biology  upon  chemical  laws  in  your  '  Prin- 
ciples of  Biology '  seemed  to  indicate  that  these  were  regarded  by  you  as  the  immedi- 
ate foundation  of  biology. 

"  You  will  also  see  by  a  footnote  to  page  148  that  I  had  read  your  '  Classification  of 
the  Sciences,'  and  some  of  your  strictures  on  Comte's  philosophy,  but  not  until  the 
matter  of  that  chapter  was  in  type.  As  soon  as  I  could  obtain  it  I  read  your  '  Genesis 
of  Science.'  In  taking  down  my  copy  I  see  that  I  put  an  occasional  comment  in  the 
margin.  At  the  close  of  your  discussion  of  Comte  I  had  written:  'Nevertheless 
Comte's  hierarchy  is  a  grand  truth  that  Spencer  recognizes  by  adopting  the  same 
order  in  his  system.' 

"This  merely  shows  how  strongly  I  have  always  been  impressed  with  this  idea, 
and  the  remark  made  in  my  footnote  to  page  146  of  '  Dynamic  Sociology,'  Vol.  I,  is 
jus.t  what  I  should  now  say  to  your  'Genesis  of  Science.'  Literally  you  are  right 
and  Comte  wrong,  for  nothing  is  clearer  than  that  all  science,  all  knowledge,  and  all 
progress,  have  been  empirical,  have  come  limping  along  in  an  irregular,  illogical,  and 
haphazard  way,  wrong  end  first,  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  after  the  wasteful 
method  of  nature  in  general  that  some  affect  so  greatly  to  admire.  It  was  unfortu- 
nate that  Comte  should  have  blundered  as  he  did  in  asserting  that  the  historical 
order  of  development  conformed  to  the  natural  order  of  genesis,  and  thus  given  you 
an  occasion  to  take  him  up  on  this  unessential  point,  which  many  no  doubt  have 
mistaken  for  the  essential  one.  But  Comte  was  always  making  such  blunders,  cal- 
culated to  scare  off  nearly  every  one  from  looking  into  the  merits  of  his  system. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  learn  from  your  letter  what  your  entire  system  would  have 
been.  So  far  as  the  heads  are  concerned,  it  is  quite  as  near  to  Comte's  as  I  supposed. 
If  your  '  geology '  could  be  regarded  as  the  equivalent  of  his  physics  and  chemistry, 
the  two  series  would  be  identical,  for  Comte  did  not  ignore  psychic  phenomena  and 


en.  v]  FILIATION  69 

entiation.  The  more  general  phenomena  of  the  simpler  sciences  are 
elaborated  into  more  complex  forms.  They  are  the  raw  material 
which  is  worked  up  into  more  finished  products,  much  as  pig  iron  is 
worked  up  into  tools,  machinery,  cutlery,  and  watch-springs.  The 
simpler  sciences  contain  all  that  is  in  the  more  complex,  but  it  is 
more  homogeneous,  and  the  process  of  evolution,  as  we  know,  is  a 

laws,  but  treated  them  quite  fully  and  in  the  same  position  as  you.  He  only  denied 
that  they  were  distinct  from  biology.  Moreover,  in  his  '  Politique  Positive,'  he 
makes  ethics  the  final  term,  the  same  as  you. 

"  The  difference,  then,  is  not  so  much  in  the  names  or  the  order  of  the  sciences  as 
in  the  point  of  view  from  which  they  are  contemplated.  Here  it  seems  fundamental, 
and  I  have  never  so  fully  realized  this  before.  You  base  your  classification  upon  the 
concrete  phenomena  or  material  facts,  while  Comte  based  his  upon  the  laws  or  prin- 
ciples underlying  the  phenomena.  Your  geology  cannot  therefore  be  reduced  to 
physics  and  chemistry.  Your  astronomy  is  the  sun,  planets,  and  stars  ;  your  biology, 
the  animals  and  plants,  and  your  sociology,  associated  human  beings.  But  I  do  not 
see  how  you  get  a  concrete  basis  for  psychology,  since  mind  is  not  concrete.  As 
for  ethics,  it  certainly  is  not  a  concrete  thing,  and  I  consider  it  only  a  department  of 
sociology. 

' '  But  is  the  distinction  as  fundamental  as  it  seems  at  first  sight  ?  Concrete  things 
are  only  known  by  the  phenomena  they  manifest,  and  philosophy  is  mainly  a  process 
of  arriving  at  the  laws  and  principles  underlying  phenomena.  Each  of  your  treatises 
avowedly  deals  with  '  principles '  — '  the  laws  of  the  knowable.'  A  classification  based 
on  the  laws  of  the  universe  is  therefore  much  more  fundamental  than  one  based  on 
the  concrete  facts,  and  is,  in  my  judgment,  the  only  one  upon  which  the  true  '  filia- 
tion '  of  the  sciences  can  proceed. 

"  Yours  with  great  respect, 

"  LESTER  F.  WARD." 

In  a  paper  which  I  read  before  the  Philosophical  Society  of  Washington  on  Feb. 
1,  1896,  partly  growing  out  of  this  correspondence,  an  abstract  of  which  was  pub- 
lished in  Science  for  Feb.  21, 1896,  I  placed  the  two  systems  in  parallel  columns, 
as  follows  :  — 

System  of  Auguste  Comte :  System  of  Herbert  Spencer  : 

1.  Astronomy  ..-  1.   Astronomy 

2.  Physics       j 

„.  J    .  .  2.  Geology 

3.  Chemistry  ) 

4.  Biology  (including  3.  Biology 

5.  Cerebral  biology)  4,  Psychology 

6.  Sociology  5.  Sociology 

7.  Ethics  6.  Ethics 

The  more  I  reflect  upon  the  use  of  geology  as  a  coordinate  term  in  this  series  the 
more  objectionable  it  appears.  In  sucB  comprehensive  groups  as  these  must  neces- 
sarily be  geology  would  fall  under  astronomy,  as  zoology  and  botany  fall  under 
biology.  The  earth  is  only  one  of  the  planets  of  the  solar  system,  and  only  happens 
to  be  the  one  we  know  most  about  and  can  most  thoroughly  observe,  hence  it  calls 
for  a  special  science.  But  there  might  just  as  logically  be  a  science  of  venerology 
(hesperology),  of  martiology  (areology),  of  joviology  (diology),  of  saturnology 
(cronology) ,  or  of  uranology,  as  well  as  of  heliology  and  selenology ;  and  we  already 
have  in  common  use  the  terms  selenography  and  areography. 


70  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

passage  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous.  A  serial 
classification  is  based  on  this  principle  of  natural  differentiation  and 
the  resulting  filiation.  It  might  be  called  tocological. 

In  the  natural  sciences,  especially  in  biology,  we  have  to  do  with 
both  kinds  of  classification.  Systematic  botany,  for  example,  is 
based  on  a  strict  logical  classification,  as  I  have  described  it.  But 
phyto-biology  must  also  deal  with  genetic  relationships,  and  the 
terms  higher  and  lower  have  different  meanings  when  they  relate  to 
these  two  classes  of  phenomena.  Sometimes  their  meanings  may 
seem  to  be  opposed  to  each  other.  Once,  when  I  was  obliged  to 
define  the  two  terms  Gymnospermce  and  Angiospermce  for  a  diction- 
ary, I  found  myself  saying  that  the  former  were  coordinate  with 
the  latter,  and  also  that  they  were  lower  in  the  scale  of  development, 
and  this  at  first  seemed  like  a  contradiction.  But  a  close  analysis 
shows  that  both  statements  were  true  and  did  not  conflict,  because,  in 
the  one  the  point  of  view  was  systematic,  i.e.,  that  of  the  logical 
classification,  while  in  the  other  it  was  genetic,  i.e.,  that  of  the  serial 
classification. 

The  serial  order  of  the  sciences  is  not  an  optional  arrangement  in 
which  different  authors  may  differ  at  will.  It  is  the  order  of  nature, 
and  if  all  authors  do  not  agree  it  is  because  they  have  not  yet  fully 
discovered  the  true  order.  As  in  the  progress  of  establishing  truth 
everywhere,  they  must  ultimately  all  agree,  because  the  truth  is  one. 
We  do  not  accept  it  on  any  one's  authority,  and  there  is  no  occasion 
for  trying  to  be  original  and  saying  something  else  after  the  truth 
has  been  once  said.  What  all  right-minded  persons  want  is  to  dis- 
cover the  true  order  of  nature  and  the  natural  arrangement  of  the 
sciences. 

The  filiation  of  the  sciences  is  also  an  order  of  mutual  dependence. 
Just  as  a  child  is  dependent  on  its  parents,  so  the  complex  sciences 
are  dependent  upon  the  general  ones.  This  dependence  is  specially 
marked  between  any  one  science  in  the  series  and  the  one  immedi- 
ately below  it,  but  in  a  broader  sense  all  the  higher  sciences  are 
dependent  upon  all  the  lower  ones.  •  For  the  sociologist  it  is  specially 
important  to  recognize  the  dependence  of  social  science  on  physical 
science,  using  these  terms  in  their  commonly  accepted  senses.  This 
might  seem  to  be  a  truism,  but  a  glance  at  even  modern  education  is 
sufficient  to  justify  its  emphasis.  I  think  it  safe  to  say  that  the 
educational  programme  or  curriculum  of  none  of  the  leading  institu- 


CH.  v]  SYMPODIAL   DEVELOPMENT  71 

tions  of  learning  or  popular  educational  systems  makes  any  pretense 
at  a  serial  arrangement  of  studies  in  the  sense  that  that  term  has 
here  been  used  —  an  arrangement  by  which  a  knowledge  of  nature  is 
acquired  in  the  order  in  which  natural  phenomena  and  natural  things 
have  been  developed. 

Social  science  becomes  as  much  more  thorough,  intelligible,  inter- 
esting, and  useful  when  based  on  physical  science  as  is  astronomy, 
for  example,  when  based  on  mathematics,  or  geology  and  mineralogy 
when  based  on  physics  and  chemistry.  There  is  no  one  of  the  more 
general  sciences  that  does  not  throw  light  on  sociology.  Any  one 
who  looks  for  them  can  find  "  analogies "  all  through.  There  are 
almost  as  many  parallels  between  social  and  chemical  processes  as 
there  are  between  social  and  biological.  By  extended  comparisons 
in  all  fields  we  find  that  the  operations  of  nature  are  the  same  in  all 
departments.  We  not  only  discover  one  great  law  of  evolution 
applicable  to  all  the  fields  covered  by  the  several  sciences  of  the 
series,  but  we  can  learn  something  more  about  the  true  method  of 
evolution  by  observing  how  it  takes  place  in  each  of  these  fields. 
Even  some  of  the  subordinate  sciences  falling  under  the  great  groups 
that  we  have  been  considering,  are  capable  of  shedding  light  upon 
the  method  of  evolution,  and  probably  any  specialist  in  science,  if 
he  w'ould  look  carefully  for  such  indications,  could  supplement  the 
knowledge  we  have  relative  to  the  essential  nature  of  evolutionary 
processes. 

As  an  extreme  example  of  the  aid  that  the  higher  sciences  and  the 
philosophy  of  science  in  general  may  derive  from  some  of  the  more 
special  fields  of  research  I  will  cite  the  branch  that  I  have  myself 
most  fully  studied,  and  only  for  that  reason,  viz.,  paleobotany.  Be- 
fore I  had  specially  pursued  that  study  my  ideas  of  evolution  were 
similar  to  those  that  I  observe  to  prevail  among  scientific  men  and 
the  educated  public  generally.  But  an  acquaintance  with  the  extinct 
plant  life  of  the  globe  has  wrought  a  great  revolution  in  my  concep- 
tions of  the  development  of  life  in  all  its  forms  and  also  in  the 
nature  of  evolution  itself,  cosmic,  organic,  and  social. 

SYMPODIAL  DEVELOPMENT 

The  science  of  botany  in  its  wide  and  proper  sense  —  what  I  call 
"  the  New  Botany,"  the  natural  history  of  plants  including  their  geo- 
logical history — teaches  that  the  prevailing  conception  of  organic 


72  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

evolution  is  radically  incorrect  in  one  of  its  essential  aspects,  and 
that  the  true  view  is  as  great  an  improvement  upon  the  current  arbo- 
rescent conception  as  that  is  upon  the  earlier  notion  of  linear  devel- 
opment. It  shows  that  plant  development  at  least,  and  inferentially 
animal  development  also,  is  sympodial.  This  term  of  course  requires 
definition  to  all  but  the  botanist,  and  yet  every  educated  person 
ought  to  have  learned  enough  botany  at  school  to  understand  it. 
But  the  botanists,  i.e.,  those  who  have  paid  no  attention  to  paleo- 
botany,  and  the  writers  of  botanical  text-books,  do  not,  it  must  be 
confessed,  clearly  explain  this  term,  and  having  no  idea  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  principle  involved  as  bearing  upon  evolution,  they 
do  not  lay  stress  on  its  essential  features.  At  the  risk,  therefore,  of 
being  elementary  I  will  briefly  remark  that  the  vegetable  kingdom 
presents  two  clearly  marked  modes  of  branching  known  respectively 
as  monopodial  and  sympodial.  In  monopodial  branching  the  stem  or 
main  trunk  gives  off  at  intervals  subordinate  stems  called  branches, 
containing  a  comparatively  small  number  of  the  fibre-vascular  bun- 
dles of  the  main  stem,  which  thus  continues  to  diminish  in  size  by  the 
loss  of  its  bundles  until  all  are  thus  given  off  and  the  stem  termi- 
nates in  a  slender  twig.  In  sympodial  branching,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  main  stem  or  trunk  rises  to  a  certain  height  and  then  gives  off  a 
branch  into  which  the  majority  of  the  fibro-vascular  bundles  enter, 
so  that  the  branch  virtually  becomes  the  trunk,  and  the  real  trunk 
or  ascending  portion  is  reduced  to  a  mere  twig,  or  may  ultimately 
fail  of  support  altogether  and  disappear  through  atrophy.  This 
large  branch  at  length  in  turn  gives  off  a  secondary  branch  contain- 
ing as  before  the  bulk  of  the  bundles,  and  the  first  branch  is  sacri- 
ficed in  the  same  manner  as  was  the  original  stem  or  trunk ;  and  this 
process  is  repeated  throughout  the  life  of  the  tree  or  plant.  As 
might  be  naturally  expected,  the  resulting  series  of  branches  of  dif- 
ferent orders  is  zigzag,  and  in  most  sympodial  herbs  this  is  manifest 
in  the  plant.  It  is  somewhat  so  in  vines  like  the  grape  vine,  but  in 
trees,  like  the  linden,  the  forces  of  heliotropism  and  general  upward 
growth  serve  to  right  up  these  several  originally  inclined  sympodes, 
the  abortive  stems  of  antecedent  stages  vanish  entirely,  and  the 
trunk  becomes  as  erect  and  symmetrical  as  those  of  its  monopodial 
companions  of  the  forest.  There  are  other  distinctions  which  may 
be  found  set  forth  in  the  books,  but  these  are  the  only  ones  that 
concern  us  here. 


CH.  v]  SYMPODIAL   DEVELOPMENT  73 

Now  the  monopodial  type  of  branching  is  of  course  the  one  that 
everybody  is  familiar  with,  and  this  is  the  type  that  is  alone  consid- 
ered when  we  speak  of  the  arborescent  character  of  organic  develop- 
ment. Its  inadequacy  in  explaining  the  actual  phenomena  presented 
by  organic  nature  has  been  strongly  felt,  but  no  attempt  has  been 
made  to  discover  a  more  correct  method  of  representation.  The 
opponents  of  evolution  have  made  much  use  of  the  facts  which,  on 
the  current  arborescent  theory,  are  in  conflict  with  the  doctrine,  and 
even  now,  after  the  general  truth  of  evolution  has  been  firmly  estab- 
lished, these  residual  phenomena  that  refuse  to  square  with  hypoth- 
esis occasionally  obtrude  themselves  and  generate  unpleasant  doubts. 
In  the  earlier  pre-Darwinian  days  of  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  after  Lamarck,  Goethe,  Geoffroy  Saint-Hilaire,  and  Robert 
Chambers  (anonymous  author  of  the  "  Vestiges  of  Creation " )  had 
filled  the  air  with  the  idea  of  evolution,  these  opposing  facts  were 
eagerly  seized  upon  and  brought  forward  as  effectually  disposing  of 
the  doctrine.  A  class  of  writers  of  that  time  —  Dr.  William  Buck- 
land,  Dr.  Lindley,  Dr.  Henry  Witham,  and  Hugh  Miller  —  who  were 
as  well  acquainted  as  anybody  in  their  day  with  the  character  of 
the  extinct  floras  of  the  globe,  availed  themselves  of  this  scientific 
knowledge  to  disprove  evolution  on  scientific  grounds,  and  their 
arguments  are  as  unanswerable  to-day,  on  the  prevailing  view  of 
arborescent  (monopodial)  development,  as  they  were  at  that  time. 
They  never  have  been  answered.  On  the  view  here  presented  that 
evolution  is  sympodial  and  not  monopodial,  these  arguments  find 
their  complete  answer,  and  the  last  objection  to  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  is  removed. 

For  example,  it  was  well  known  to  Dr.  Lindley,  Hugh  Miller, 
and  Dr.  Buckland,  that  the  great  lepidophytes  and  calamites  which 
formed  the  forests  of  the  Carboniferous  period  belonged  to  the 
same  type  of  vegetation  as  our  comparatively  insignificant  club- 
mosses  and  horsetails,  and  they  could  say  with  crushing  force  of 
argument  that  there  had  been  no  evolution,  but  degeneration  instead. 
No  evolutionist  has  been  able  to  answer  this  argument,  which  is 
only  one  of  scores  that  the  history  of  plant  development  in  geologic 
time  presents.  As  an  evolutionist  myself,  I  could  not  help  being 
impressed  with  these  facts  which  have  been  staring  me  in  the  face 
for  the  past  twenty  years.  Throughout  all  this  time  it  has  been 
my  constant  effort  to  discover  a  law  that  would  reconcile  these 


74  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

facts  with  the  truth  of  evolution.  Not  until  the  idea  had  occurred 
to  me  that  evolution  was  sympodial  did  I  find  such  a  law.  I  then 
subjected  the  new  theory  to  all  possible  tests,  and  with  each  trial 
it  has  grown  more  solid.  There  are  no  facts  inconsistent  with  it, 
and  the  only  scientific  argument  against  the  general  doctrine  of 
evolution  seems  to  be  answered. 

I  have  prepared  a  course  of  lectures  on  Evolution  in  the  Vege- 
table Kingdom,  illustrated  by  over  fifty  lantern  views,  and  show- 
ing how  the  law  of  sympodial  development  has  operated  in  the 
geological  history  of  plants.  I  cannot  even  summarize  these  facts 
in  this  chapter,  and  will  confine  myself  to  giving  a  few  of  the 
most  striking  examples.  The  case  of  the  Lepidodendrales  and 
the  Calamariaceae  has  already  been  mentioned.  Neither  of  these 
great  phyla  crossed  the  line  that  divides  primary  from  secondary 
time.  They  reached  their  maximum  development  in  the  Carbon- 
iferous epoch,  dwindled  toward  its  close,  and  went  down  with  the 
Permian  winter  to  reappear  no  more  forever.  These  were  the 
great  specialized  types  that  attained  such  beauty  and  majesty  in 
that  island  world  of  heat  and  moisture  that  prevailed  in  Carbon- 
iferous time.  The  records  do  not  make  it  certain  what  the  sympode 
was  that  received  the  bulk  of  the  fibers  and  continued  these  races 
of  plants,  but  it  is  probable  that  the  Coniferae  were  the  true 
descendants  of  the  lepidophytes.  The  persistence  of  unspecialized 
types  is  a  part  of  the  law  of  sympodial  development,  and  it  is  these 
only  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  these  great  lines.  The 
Calamariaceae  also  disappeared  at  the  close  of  the  Paleozoic,  but 
the  large  forms  of  Equisetum  of  the  Mesozoic  indicate  that  the 
original  phylum  did  not  die  out,  but  persisted  down  to  our  time, 
gradually  dwindling  until  they  are  now  only  represented  by  our 
scouring  rushes  which  are  strictly  herbaceous.  We  can  only  specu- 
late as  to  what  the  first  great  branch  of  this  type  was.  It  may 
have  been  the  Gnetacese,  and  the  next  may  have  been  the  Casuari- 
naceae,  which  most  authors  regard  as  dicotyledonous,  though  Treub 
maintains  that  they  are  wholly  anomalous.  The  tree-ferns,  which 
were  the  true  rivals  of  the  lepidophytes  in  the  Carboniferous,  have 
a  history  similar  to  that  of  the  Calamariaceae.  Our  ferns  of  to-day, 
including  the  tree-ferns  of  the  tropics,  are  doubtless  the  direct 
descendants  of  the  original  phylum,  which  has  dwindled  slowly 
throughout  all  these  ages.  It  is  now  almost  certain  that  the  first 


en.  v]  SYMPODIAL   DEVELOPMENT  75 

sympode  of  that  line  was  the  Bennettitales,  which  reached  their 
culminating  point  in  the  Upper  Jurassic  or  Lower  Cretaceous,  and 
are  now  extinct,  but  are  represented  in  our  flora,  though  sparingly, 
by  the  true  Cycadacese,  of  which  Cycas  revoluta  is  the  most  familiar 
example.  The  Cordaitales  of  the  Devonian  and  Carboniferous  dis- 
appeared in  Paleozoic  time  after  playing  an  important  role.  The 
first  sympode  of  that  line  was  probably  Nceggerathia,  the  second, 
]>aiera,  characteristic  of  the  Mesozoic,  and  the  third,  Ginkgo,  which 
was  abundant  in  the  Jurassic,  but  fell  off  during  the  Cretaceous 
and  Tertiary,  and  is  now  represented  by  a  single  species,  the 
maidenhair-tree,  native  of  China,  but  cultivated  throughout  all 
the  warmer  temperate  parts  of  the  world.  This  is  without  ques- 
tion the  most  interesting  line  of  descent  presented  by  the  vegetable 
kingdom.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  original  phylum  of  which 
the  Coniferse  constituted  a  sympode,  we  at  least  know  that  they 
first  took  the  form  of  the  Permian  genus  Walchia,  later  that  of  the 
Mesozoic  genus  Palissya,  and  finally  that  of  the  chiefly  Cretaceous 
and  Tertiary  genus  Sequoia,  which,  however,  much  as  in  the  case 
of  Ginkgo,  still  persists,  although  now  on  the  verge  of  extinction. 
Its  living  representatives  are  the  two  great  forest  monarchs,  the 
redwood  and  the  mammoth  tree  of  the  Coast  Range  and  the  Sierras, 
respectively,  of  California. 

Space  will  not  permit  me  to  follow  out  other  lines,  as  I  could 
easily  do,  and  show  that  everywhere  and  always  the  course  of  evo- 
lution in  the  plant  world  has  been  the  same ;  that  the  original  phy- 
lum has  at  some  point  reached  its  maximum  development  and  given 
off  a  sympode  that  has  carried  the  process  of  evolution  on  until  it 
should  in  turn  give  birth  to  a  new  sympode,  which  can  only  repeat 
the  same  history,  and  so  on  indefinitely.  Each  successive  sympode 
possesses  attributes  which  enable  it  better  to  resist  the  environment 
and  therefore  constitutes  a  form  of  development  or  structural  ad- 
vance, so  that  the  entire  process  is  one  of  true  evolution,  and  has 
culminated  in  the  great  class  of  dicotyledonous  exogenous  plants 
which  now  dominate  the  vegetable  kingdom.  On  this  view  there  is 
nothing  remarkable  in  our  finding  extinct  forms  much  superior  to 
any  of  the  living  forms  of  the  same  type  of  structure.  In  fact,  that 
is  what  we  should  expect,  and  it  is  what  we  actually  find  wherever 
there  is  an  adequate  record  of  the  history  of  any  line.  What  we 
have  in  the  living  flora  of  the  globe  to  compare  with  those  great 


76  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

fallen  races  of  the  past  is  merely  the  persisting  unspeoialized  types, 
which  escaped  destruction  simply  because  unspecialized.  For  the 
law  of  the  persistence  of  the  unspecialized  is  only  the  counterpart 
of  the  law  of  the  extinction  of  the  specialized.  Specialization  is 
always  a  preparation  for  destruction.  Although  representing  adap- 
tation to  existing  conditions  it  becomes  inadaptation  so  soon  as 
those  conditions  change. 

From  lack  of  qualifications  and  opportunity  I  have  not  been  able 
to  verify  the  operation  of  this  law  in  the  animal  kingdom  to  the 
same  extent  as  I  have  done  in  the  vegetable,  but  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance with  zoology,  and  especially  with  paleozoology,  is  sufficient  to 
show  that  it  is  as  true  there  as  in  the  history  of  plants.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  mention  the  trilobites  of  the  Cambrian,  the  molluscan 
life  of  the  Silurian,  the  ganoid  fishes  of  the  Devonian,  the  gigantic 
Neuroptera  and  cockroaches  of  the  Carboniferous,  the  enormous 
lizards  (dinosaurs)  of  the  Jurassic,  and  the  mastodons  of  the  Plio- 
cene, in  order  to  suggest  at  least  an  almost  exact  parallel  to  what  I 
have  been  sketching  for  the  record  of  plant  life.  Any  zoologist  who 
clearly  grasps  the  principle  of  sympodial  dichotomy  will  doubtless 
be  able  to  supplement  the  above  enumeration  to  any  required  extent. 

Passing  over,  then,  with  these  few  hints,  the  field  of  zoology,  let 
us  rise  at  once  to  the  plane  of  human  history  and  see  whether  we 
cannot  find  a  similar  parallel  here.  We  may  look  upon  human  races 
as  so  many  trunks  and  branches  of  what  may  be  called  the  sociologi- 
cal tree.  The  vast  and  bewildering  multiplicity  in  the  races  of  men 
is  the  result  of  ages  of  race  development,  and  it  has  taken  place  in  a 
manner  very  similar  to  that  in  which  the  races  of  plants  and  animals 
have  developed.  Its  origin  is  lost  in  the  obscurity  of  ages  of  unre- 
corded history,  and  we  can  only  judge  from  existing  savages  and 
the  meager  data  of  archaeology  and  human  paleontology,  how  the 
process  went  on.  But  we  know  that  it  did  go  on,  and  when  at  last 
the  light  of  tradition  and  written  annals  opens  upon  the  human  races 
we  find  them  engaged  in  a  great  struggle,  such  as  Gumplowicz  has 
so  graphically  described.  But  we  also  find,  as  both  he  and  Ratzen- 
hofer  have  ably  shown,  that  out  of  this  struggle  new  races  have 
sprung,  and  that  these  in  turn  have  struggled  with  other  races,  and 
out  of  these  struggles  still  other  races  have  slowly  emerged,  until  at 
last,  down  toward  our  own  times  and  within  the  general  line  of  the 
historic  races,  the  great  leading  nationalities  —  French,  English, 


CH.  v]  SYMPODIAL   DEVELOPMENT  77 

German,  etc. — have  beeu  evolved.  Now  every  one  of  these  races 
of  men,  from  the  advanced  nationalities  last  named  back  to  the  bar- 
baric tribes  that  arose  from  the  blending  of  hostile  hordes,  is  simply 
an  anthropologic  sympode,  strictly  analogous  to  the  biologic  sym- 
podes  that  I  have  described.  And  when  we  concentrate  our  atten- 
tion upon  those  later  aspects  of  this  movement  which  we  are  fairly 
well  acquainted  with,  we  find  a  most  remarkable  parallelism  between 
the  phenomena  which  we  popularly  characterize  as  the  rise  and  fall 
of  nations  or  empires  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  great  types  of  life 
during  the  progress  of  geologic  history.  As  I  look  back  in  imagina- 
tion over  the  vast  stretches  of  the  past  I  can  see  the  earth  peopled, 
as  it  were,  by  these  vegetable  forms,  different  in  every  epoch,  and  an 
image  presents  itself  to  my  mind  of  the  gradual  rise,  ultimate  mas- 
tery or  hegemony,  and  final  culmination  of  each  of  the  great  types 
of  vegetation,  followed  by  its  decline  contemporaneously  with  the 
rise  of  the  type  that  is  to  succeed  it.  This  rhythmic  march  of  evo- 
lution has  been  going  on  throughout  the  entire  history  of  the  planet, 
and  the  path  of  geologic  history  is  strewn  with  the  ruins  of  fallen 
vegetable  empires,  just  as  that  of  human  history  is  strewn  with  the 
wreck  of  political  empires  and  decadent  races. 

We  may  distinguish  between  specialization  and  evolution.  The 
former  consists  chiefly  in  modification  of  form  and  size  without 
essential  change  in  the  type  of  structure.  The  latter  depends 
entirely  on  modification  in  the  type  of  structure  to  adapt  it  to 
changes  in  the  environment.  At  the  period  of  maximum  develop- 
ment of  any  type  of  structure  it  must  be  fairly  well  adapted  to  its 
environment,  and  it  becomes  specialized  in  form  and  vigorous  in 
growth,  usually  attaining  relatively  large  size,  as  in  the  lepido- 
phytes,  calamites,  cordaites,  and  tree-ferns  of  the  Carboniferous,  the 
dinosaurs  of  the  Jura,  and  the  great  sequoias.  All  these  must  have 
once  been  thoroughly  adapted  to  their  environment.  But  as  soon  as 
a  change  begins  to  take  place  in  the  environment  the  degree  of 
adaptation  begins  to  diminish.  The  result,  however,  is  not  a  retrac- 
ing of  any  of  the  steps  in  specialization  that  have  been  taken.  It  is 
first  diminishing  abundance  and  supremacy  of  these  specialized 
forms,  then  their  more  and  more  complete  subordination  to  the  more 
vigorous  types,  i.e.,  those  better  adapted  to  the  now  changed  envi- 
ronment, and  finally  their  extinction.  But  they  go  down  just  as 
they  are,  with  all  their  specialization  of  form  and  size,  and  simply 


78  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  u 

perish  from  inability  longer  to  compete  with  the  rising  types  of  life. 
It  is  possible  that,  if  human  aid  does  not  prevent  it,  the  last  repre- 
sentative of  the  mammoth  trees  of  the  Sierras  may  be  the  largest 
and  grandest  individual  of  its  race. 

Just  how  specialization  entails  extinction  is  an  important  ques- 
tion. Often,  as  in  most  of  the  cases  just  cited,  the  organisms 
become  overgrown,  and,  as  it  were,  break  down  by  their  own 
weight  the  moment  that  perfect  adaptation  ceases  which  enabled 
them  to  attain  such  proportions.  But  there  are  many  other  more 
subtle  causes  at  work  in  the  same  direction.  I  shall  not  attempt  an 
enumeration  of  them  here,  but  will  instance  one  case  which  will 
give  a  clear  idea  of  how  specialization  may  work  its  own  destruction. 
It  is  well  known  that  some  species  of  Yucca  depend  for  their  con- 
tinuance upon  cross  fertilization  through  insect  agency,  and  that 
their  flowers  have  become  specialized  so  as  to  permit  a  certain 
species  of  insect,  the  Yuccasella  pronuba,  to  effect  this  cross  fertiliza- 
tion. Now  if  this  plant  should  be  transported  by  any  agency  to  a 
habitat  where  this  insect  does  not  exist  it  must  inevitably  perish. 
It  cannot  wander  beyond  the  range  of  the  insect,  and  if  for  any 
reason  the  insect  should  die  out  the  plant  must  also  die.  This 
extreme  case  vividly  illustrates  the  whole  subject  of  overspecializa- 
tion  and  the  precarious  nature  of  highly  specialized  organisms,  for 
there  are  all  degrees  of  the  phenomena  and  every  form  of  specializa- 
tion makes  the  life  of  the  species  short  and  uncertain. 

When  we  say  that  any  once  vigorous  type  has  dwindled  since  the 
period  of  maximum  development  and  left  only  degenerate  survivors 
in  our  time,  the  statement  is  not  altogether  correct  and  is  mislead- 
ing. The  truth  is  that  the  highly  specialized  forms  do  not  degene- 
rate or  retrograde  at  all,  but  perish  as  they  were,  being  simply 
crowded  out  of  existence.  What  persists  is  the  unspecialized  forms 
of  the  same  type  that  were  contemporary  with  the  specialized  ones, 
but  escaped  competition  because  not  specialized.  These  may  come 
on  down  and  even  improve  somewhat,  but  they  will  appear  by  com- 
parison to  be  degenerate.  Such  are  all  the  long-lived  races  of  both 
animals  and  plants  that  are  found,  like  Lingula,  passing  on  up 
through  many  geological  formations. 

How  do  all  these  principles  apply  to  human  races?  Careful 
examination  reveals  a  close  parallelism.  Races  and  nations  become 
overgrown  and  disappear.  Peoples  become  overspecialized  and  fall 


CH.  v]  CREATIVE   SYNTHESIS  79 

an  easy  prey  to  the  more  vigorous  surrounding  ones,  and  a  high 
state  of  civilization  is  always  precarious.  Races  and  peoples  are 
always  giving  off  their  most  highly  vitalized  elements  and  being 
transplanted  to  new  soil,  leaving  the  parent  country  to  decline  or  be 
swallowed  up.  The  plot  of  the  "  ^Eneid,"  though  it  be  a  myth,  at  least 
illustrates  this  truth.  Troy  was  swallowed  up  by  Greece,  but  not 
until  it  had  been  transplanted  to  Rome,  and  the  Pergama  recidiva 
handed  on  the  qualities  of  Trojan  character  to  later  ages.  Italy  was 
the  vanguard  of  civilization  to  the  sixteenth  century,  when  she 
transferred  her  scepter  to  Spain,  which  held  it  during  the  seven- 
teenth, and  in  turn  transferred  it  to  France.  It  passed  to  England 
in  the  nineteenth,  and  bids  fair  to  cross  the  Atlantic  before  the 
close  of  the  twentieth.  Race  and  national  degeneration  or  decadence 
means  nothing  more  than  this  pushing  out  of  the  vigorous  branches 
or  sympodes  at  the  expense  of  the  parent  trunks.  The  organicists 
see  in  colonization  the  phenomenon  of  social  reproduction.  This  is 
at  least  a  half  truth.  Colonization  often  means  regeneration;  it 
means  race  development;  it  means  social  evolution. 

CREATIVE  SYNTHESIS 

I  borrow  this  expression  from  Wundt,1  who  gives  the  central  idea 
of  it  in  the  following  passage :  "  There  is  absolutely  no  form  which 
in  the  meaning  and  value  of  its  content  is  not  something  more  than 
the  mere  sum  of  its  factors  or  than  the  mere  mechanical  resultant 
of  its  components  "  (p.  274)  .2  But  I  shall  make  of  it  a  still  wider 
application  than  he  does.  It  seems  to  me  to  embody  the  answer 
to  a  large  amount  of  what  passes  for  very  wise,  but  what  I  have 
always  regarded  as  not  only  superficial  but  also  essentially  false 
reasoning.  The  idea  is  so  far-reaching  that  I  cannot  hope  to  pre- 
sent all  its  applications  in  this  chapter.  The  most  I  can  do  is 
to  lay  down  the  principle  and  let  the  applications  come  at  their 
proper  times  and  places  as  we  proceed.  The  conception  was  not 

1  "  Logik."    Eine  Untersuchung  der  Principien  der  Erkenntniss  und  der  Methoden 
wissenschaftlicher  Forschung.    Von   Wilhelm  Wundt.     Zwei   Bande.    Zweite  um- 
gearbeitete  Auflage.      Stuttgart,   1895.     Zweiter  Band.      Methodenlehre.      Zweite 
Abtheilung.    Logik  der  Geisteswissenschaften.     Zweites  Capitel.     Die  Logik  der 
Psychologic,  §  4.    Die  Principien  der  Psychologic  ;  d  :  Das  Princip  der  Schopferischen 
Synthese,  pp.  267-281. 

2  "  Es  gibt  absolut  kein  solches  Gebilde,  das  nicht  nach  der  Bedeutung  und  dem 
Werth  seines  Inhaltes  mehr  ware  als  die  blosse  Summe  seiner  Factoren   oder  die 
blosse  mechanische  Resultante  seiner  Componente,"  loc.  cit.,  p.  274. 


80  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

entirely  new  when  I  met  with  the  expression  in  Wundt's  "  Logik," 
but  this  expression,  I  freely  confess,  had  the  effect  to  render  it 
more  definite  and  clear.  As  will  be  seen,  it  is  a  composite  idea. 
The  notion  embodied  in  the  second  component  is  nothing  more  • 
nor  less  than  the  fertile  truth  taught  most  clearly  by  chemistry 
that  a  compound  of  two  substances  is  something  more  than  the 
sum  of  those  substances,  and  is  in  a  proper  sense  a  third  and  dif- 
ferent substance.  That  its  properties  are  in  some  way  derived 
from  and  due  to  those  of  its  components  is  not  denied,  but  the 
relation  is  one  that  no  human  insight  can  fully  comprehend.  No 
one,  for  example,  could  predict  in  advance  what  kind  of  a  sub- 
stance would  result  from  even  so  simple  a  combination  as  oxygen 
and  hydrogen  in  the  proportion  of  two  atoms  of  the  latter  to  one 
of  the  former.  No  one  could  have  told  till  he  had  tried  it  whether 
the  resulting  substance  would  be  a  gas,  like  both  the  components, 
or  a  liquid,  as  it  is  at  ordinary  temperatures,  or  a  solid,  as  it  is  at 
lower  temperatures.  Much  less  could  any  one  have  told  what  its 
properties  would  be. 

The  common  hypothesis  on  which  the  substances  resulting  from 
the  chemical  union  of  components  which  are  themselves  composite 
is  explained  is  that  the  molecules  of  the  components  enter  into  the 
new  aggregate  as  units  without  previous  decomposition  into  their 
simpler  elements;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  this  is  known  to  be 
true. 

This  chemical  synthesis  has  long  been  believed  to  typify  a  large 
number  of  other  phenomena  in  all  departments  of  nature.  The 
indestructibility  of  matter  requires  us  to  suppose  that  different 
things  are  nothing  but  so  many  combinations  of  elements  that  have 
always  existed,  and  this  truth  is  apt  to  generate  the  idea  that  there 
is  really  "no  new  thing  under  the  sun."  This  idea,  although  em- 
bodying a  very  general  truth,  really  leads  to  a  false  conception  of 
nature,  the  conception  namely  that  there  are  no  real  differences 
in  things,  and  that  the  universe  is  a  monotonous  sameness.  The 
facts  of  chemical  union  resulting  in  products  wholly  unlike  their 
components  tend  to  dispel  this  illusion,  but  the  law  of  aggregation 
or  recompounding  is  not  perceived  to  be  a  universal  one.  applicable 
to  all  departments  of  nature.  Spencer  and  others  have  successfully 
shown  that  this  is  the  case,  and  it  is  to  this  truth  that  Durkheim 
appeals  in  defense  of  the  existence  of  distinctively  social  phenomena. 


CH.  v]  CREATIVE   SYNTHESIS  81 

But  this  universal  chemism,  or  intimate  blending  of  elements  with 
complete  loss  of  individuality  and  reappearance  in  new  forms,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  mere  mechanical  mixture  or  amalgamation,  required 
to  be  more  deeply  studied.  The  moment  we  recognize  that  it  is 
creative,  although  it  thereby  acquires  no  quality  that  it  did  not  pos- 
sess before,  a  flood  of  light  is  shed  on  the  entire  process,  and  we  then 
see  how  it  can  be  that  an  infinite  variety  may  spring  from  relatively 
few  elements,  or,  indeed,  from  an  assumed  unitary  substratum  of 
the  universe. 

Creation.  —  The  popular  conception  of  creation  is  vague  and  con- 
fused. The  old  view,  and  the  theological  view  generally,  is  the 
making  of  something  without  materials  —  creation  out  of  nothing. 
But  the  mind  cannot  conceive  this,  and  in  the  face  of  medieval 
theologism  the  maxim  ex  nihilo  niliilftt  has  always  been  constantly 
repeated  and  never  seriously  gainsaid.  The  only  rational  or  think- 
able idea  of  creation  has  always  been  that  of  putting  previously 
existing  things  into  new  forms.  If  we  go  outside  of  inetaplrysics 
and  confine  ourselves  wholly  to  art  we  find  that  this  is  the  funda- 
mental conception  upon  which  all  art  rests.  Art  erects  ideals,  and 
ideals  are  creations  in  just  this  sense.  It  is  common  to  speak  of 
the  perfection  of  nature  and  to  hear  it  said  that  art  imitates  nature. 
These  are  both  false  conceptions.  Nature  is  everywhere  imperfect, 
and  art  always  aims  to  improve  upon  nature.  No  two  natural 
objects  are  exactly  alike.  This  is  because  no  natural  object  is 
ideally  perfect.  The  differences  are  due  to  defects.  Let  a  botanist 
try  to  find  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  plant  that  grows  abundantly 
around  him.  He  will  examine  dozens  or  hundreds  and  then  be 
compelled  to  take  one  that  he  sees  to  be  defective.  I  have  often 
searched  long  and  faithfully  to  find  a  perfect  leaf  on  a  tree  full 
of  leaves  without  succeeding.  Something  is  always  lacking.  The 
reason  why  we  know  our  friends  and  neighbors  is  because  no 
human  face  is  perfect.  Only  lovers  find  each  other  perfect,  and 
marriage  too  often  quickly  dispels  the  illusion.  We  think  that 
foreigners  all  look  alike,  but  among  themselves  even  Chinese  and 
Amerinds  know  one  another.  It  is  said  that  the  Alpine  shepherds 
know  their  sheep,  and  I  can  believe  it,  because  when  a  boy  it  was 
my  duty  to  "  tend "  my  father's  sheep,  which  usually  numbered  a 
hundred  or  more,  and  I  not  only  knew  them  all  but  gave  them  all 
names.  Now  they  must  have  all  differed,  and  these  differences 


82  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

were  deviations  from  an  ideal,  always  falling  below  it,  because 
there  is  no  possibility  of  rising  above  it.  That  would  involve  a 
contradiction  of  terms. 

Xature  is  always  imperfect,  but  the  mind,  at  a  certain  stage  of 
development,  or  with  a  certain  amount  of  cultivation  and  training, 
becomes  capable  of  forming  ideals  of  perfection.  It  acquires  the 
power  of  seeing  the  defects  in  nature  and  of  supplying  them  in 
imagination.  This  is  the  creative  imagination  which  precedes  all 
art.  Creative  genius  is  the  next  step,  which  is  the  capacity  for 
supplying  these  defects  in  nature  outside  of  the  imagination  in 
some  concrete  objective  way.  The  fine  arts  are  the  ways  in 
which  it  does  this.  The  history  of  the  formation  and  execution 
of  ideals  is  an  interesting  one.  Those  strange  conventionalized 
figures  that  characterize  ancient  Oriental  art  and  that  of  barbaric 
races  —  obelisks,  totem  posts,  etc. — merely  show  that  the  imagina- 
tion of  such  peoples  was  limited  to  general  forms  and  could  not 
rise  to  exact  representation.  Not  until  we  come  to  Greek  art  do 
we  find  the  power  of  perfect  representation  coupled  with  the  genius 
for  its  complete  execution. 

It  is  truly  said  that  imagination  cannot  exceed  observation,  that 
the  artist  can  put  nothing  into  his  picture  that  he  has  not  seen  in 
nature.  Creation  does  not  imply  this.  What  the  artist  does  is  to 
take  the  perfect  parts  of  many  imperfect  models  and  combine  them 
in  one  in  which  all  the  parts  are  perfect.  This  is  the  essence  of 
creative  genius.  The  mind  cannot  make  something  out  of  nothing, 
any  more  than  can  the  hands.  All  it  can  do  is  to  elaborate  and 
rearrange  the  materials  it  has  previously  received  through  the 
senses.  Nihil  in  intellects,  quod  non  prius  in  sensu.  But  with  these 
materials  it  not  only  can  reconstruct  but  it  can  construct.  The 
imagination,  as  thus  understood,  is  a  faculty  of  the  intellect  which 
has  developed  pari  passu  with  its  other  faculties.  The  immediate 
antecedent  of  imagination  is  imitation,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  former  grew  out  of  the  latter.  Those  animals  to  which  we 
ascribe  the  highest  psychic  powers  are  the  most  imitative.  The  rea- 
son why  the  apes  are  such  mimics  is  that  their  minds  are  more 
highly  developed  than  those  of  other  animals.  They  are  approach- 
ing a  stage  at  which  the  formation  of  ideals  is  possible.  From  the 
highest  degrees  of  imitativeness  to  the  lowest  degrees  of  imagina- 
• '  »•'  ;-  -\  short  step,  and  it  is  just  here  that  one  of  the  bridges  spans 


CH.  v]  SOCIAL   IDEALS  83 

the  chasm  between  animal  and  man.  M.  Tarde  would  have  laid  a 
solid  psychological  foundation  for  his  philosophy  if  he  had  recognized 
this  truth  and  illustrated  it  in  his  customary  way. 

Social  Ideals.  —  We  have  seen  that  the  essential  condition  of  all 
art  is  the  psychic  power  of  forming  ideals.  Their  execution  is  cer- 
tain to  follow  their  creation.  It  has  often  been  remarked  that 
persons  of  an  artistic  turn  of  mind  often  become,  especially  in  later 
life,  social  reformers,  and  the  examples  of  Ruskin,  William  Morris, 
Howells,  Bellamy,  and  others  are  brought  forward.  I  once  heard  a 
lecturer  on  sociology  at  a  university  lay  great  emphasis  on  this  fact 
before  his  class,  and  he  treated  it  simply  as  a  remarkable  and  appar- 
ently inexplicable  coincidence.  This  led  me  to  reflect  upon  it,  but 
the  explanation  was  not  far  to  seek.  An  artist  or  art  critic,  like 
Ruskin,  possesses  a  mind  specially  constituted  for  seeing  ideals  in 
nature.  Such  a  mind  instantly  detects  the  defects  in  everything 
observed  and  unconsciously  supplies  the  missing  parts.  This  faculty 
is  general,  and  need  not  be  confined  to  human  features,  to  architec- 
tural designs,  to  statues,  portraits,  and  landscapes.  It  may  take 
any  direction.  After  a  life  engaged  in  the  search  of  ideals  in  the 
world  of  material  things,  the  mind  often  grows  more  serious  and  is 
more  and  more  sympathetic.  It  lays  more  stress  on  moral  defects, 
and  in  the  most  natural  way  conceivable,  it  proceeds  to  form  ethical 
and  social  ideals  by  the  same  process  that  it  has  always  formed 
esthetic  ideals.  The  defectiveness  of  the  social  state  in  permitting 
so  much  suffering  is  vividly  represented,  and  the  image  of  an  ideal 
society  in  which  this  would  be  prevented  spontaneously  arises  in 
the  mind.  Instinctively,  too,  the  born  artist,  now  become  a  social 
artist,  proceeds  to  construct  such  an  ideal  society,  and  we  have  a 
great  array  of  Utopias,  and  Arcadias,  and  Altrurias,  in  which  imagi- 
nation drives  out  all  the  hard,  stern  realities  of  life,  and  leaves  only 
Edens  and  Paradises.  The  highest  flights  of  artistic  ingenuity  and 
creative  power  are  attained,  and  by  looking  forward  and  backward 
every  shadow  that  is  cast  on  society  is  banished  leaving  only  sun-lit 
Elysian  fields. 

To  indulge  in  an  apparent  hyperbole,  the  moral  and  social 
reformer,  nay,  the  social  and  political  agitator  or  even  fanatic,  pro- 
vided he  be  sincere  and  not  a  self-seeker,  exercises  the  same  faculty 
as  the  poet,  the  sculptor,  and  the  painter,  and  out  of  all  these  fields 
of  art,  even  from  that  of  music,  there  have  been  recruited,  in  this 


84  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

perfectly  natural  and  legitimate  way,  philanthropists,  humanitarians,, 
socialists,  idealists,  religious,  economic,  and  social  reformers.  The 
list  is  large,  but  as  representative  types,  besides  those  already  men- 
tioned, we  may  properly  name  Victor  Hugo,  Tolstoi,  Wagner,  Millet, 
Swinburne,  and  George  Eliot. 

It  may  be  said  that  there  is  a  difference  between  esthetic  art  and 
social  art,  as  thus  described,  in  that  the  first  relates  to  the  beautiful 
while  the  second  relates  to  the  good ;  but  this  is  rather  a  distinction 
than  a  difference,  since  there  is  a  recognized  moral  beauty,  and  also 
because,  as  all  true  philosophers  of  art  admit,  the  ultimate  object  of 
art  is  to  please,  so  that  both  rest  on  feeling,  and  thus  have  a  moral 
basis.  And  if  the  social  artist  is  moved  more  by  pain  to  be  relieved 
than  by  pleasure  to  be  enjoyed  in  his  ideal  society,  this  is  only  a 
difference  of  degree,  since  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  one  of  the 
strongest  motives  to  creative  art  is  the  pain  caused  by  the  defects,, 
maladjustments,  discords,  jars,  and  eyesores  that  the  real  world 
constantly  inflicts  upon  the  hypersensitive  organization  of  the 
artist. 

Again  it  may  be  urged  that  a  work  of  art  is  a  real  and  lasting 
contribution  to  the  world's  possessions,  not  to  be  set  aside  as  foolish, 
or  trivial,  or  useless,  while  a  social  utopia  is  an  ideal  and  nothing 
more,  a  chimera,  an  Unding,  to  be  set  aside  as  the  vaporing  of  an 
unbalanced  mind.  The  answer  to  this  objection  is  that  some  Utopias 
do  not  answer  this  description,  but,  independently  of  all  practical 
considerations,  are,  in  and  of  themselves,  works  of  art.  No  one  will 
probably  deny  this  merit  to  those  of  Plato  and  More,  and  a  little 
later  that  of  Bellamy  is  likely  to  become  a  classic.  But  be  this  as  it 
may,  it  is  the  psychological  nature  of  these  operations  that  we  are 
considering  and  not  their  value.  And  what  is  art  but  exaggeration 
of  nature,  a  charming  unreality,  more  unrealizable  than  the  wildest 
utopia  ?  There  never  was,  there  never  can  be  an  Apollo  Belvidere 
or  a  Venus  of  Milo. 

Tlie  Poetic  Idea.  —  The  train  of  thought  that  we  have  been  follow- 
ing out  naturally  leads  us  to  consider  the  nature  of  the  poetic  idea. 
The  close  relation  or  practical  identity  of  poetry  and  prophecy  has 
been  frequently  recognized,  but  an  analysis  of  its  psychological  char- 
acter seems  to  be  thus  far  lacking.  This  subject  furnishes  another 
good  illustration  of  the  light  that  the  natural  sciences  shed  on  the 
highest  forms  of  ideation.  Already  in  this  chapter  it  has  been  shown 


CH.  v]  THE   POETIC   IDEA  85 

how  difficult  it  must  be  for  any  but  a  botanist,  familiar  with  the 
principle  of  sympodial  dichotomy,  to  seize  and  firmly  grasp  one  of 
the  most  essential  characteristics  of  universal  evolution,  and  now  we 
shall  see  how  a  comprehension  of  the  truths  of  organic  development 
may  supply  the  materials  for  a  clear  conception  of  so  different  a 
phenomenon  as  the  unfolding  of  a  poetic  or  prophetic  formula.  A 
true  poet,  especially  one  whose  mind  is  stored  with  the  wisdom  of 
the  world,  is  in  very  truth  a  prophet,  and  is  the  subject  of  veritable 
inspirations,  which  he  occasionally  formulates  as  it  were  uncon- 
sciously. He  is  a  seer,  i.e.,  he  sees  truth  that  others  do  not  see. 
He  sees  it  only  vaguely  and  utters  it  vagiiely  in  forms  that  may 
seem  meaningless  to  his  contemporaries,  but  after  time  has  wrought 
its  changes  and  separated  out  the  elements  that  were  in  his  mind 
the  meaning  of  his  phrases  emerges,  and  the  truth  vaguely  expressed 
becomes  definite  and  clear.  The  faculty  is,  like  imagination,  a 
purely  creative  one.  The  truth  expressed  was  never  presented  to 
the  senses,  but  only  its  elements,  which  he  puts  together  and  con- 
structs a  new  truth  which  time  will  ultimately  reveal. 

Now  the  objective  evolution  of  nature  is  parallel  to  the  subjective 
evolution  of  mind,  and  a  study  of  evolution  throws  light  on  mental 
processes.  In  the  organic  world  we  know  that  the  course  of  evolu- 
tion is  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous  through  systematic 
differentiation.  All  life  has  sprung  from  a  homogeneous,  undifferen- 
tiated  plasm,  which  contained  within  itself  the  potency  of  all  the 
varied  forms  that  have  evolved  out  of  this  plasm.  All  through  the 
history  of  organic  development  there  occur  relatively  undifferen- 
tiated  forms  which  later  divide  up  and  take  on  a  number  of  definite 
shapes,  all  of  which  are  suggested  by  these  ancestral  forms.  Agas- 
siz,  who  resisted  the  march  of  evolutionary  ideas  to  the  end  of  his 
life,  clearly  saw  this  truth,  and  he  it  was  who  called  such  forms 
comprehensive  or  prophetic  types.  He  attributed  them  to  a  great 
preordained  plan  conceived  by  the  deity  and  slowly  worked  out  in 
this  way  through  geologic  ages.  These  comprehensive  types  occur 
in  all  departments  of  organic  nature,  and  no  enumeration  of  them  is 
called  for.  But  I  will  mentioji  one  that  is  practically  unknown  to 
the  world,  and  which,  as  I  discovered  it  myself,  has  brought  this 
truth  more  closely  home  to  me  than  any  other.  As  it  is  quite  as 
good  an  illustration  as  could  be  found  anywhere,  I  feel  justified  in 
using  it. 


86  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAUT  u 

In  1883,  while  operating  in  the  Lower  Yellowstone  Valley  in 
Montana,  I  collected  in  the  Laramie  Group,  in  beds  underlying  the 
Fort  Union  deposits,  and  therefore  probably  belonging  to  the  extreme 
Upper  Cretaceous,  a  singular  fossil  plant,  as  yet  unnamed,  but  to 
which  I  have  since  devoted  considerable  study.  I  described  it  in  a 
paper  read  by  me  before  the  Geological  Section  of  the  American 
Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science  at  the  Cleveland  meet- 
ing in  1888,  and  illustrated  it  by  a  number  of  lantern  views.  I  need 
not  repeat  the  description  here,  but  will  quote  my  conclusions  as 
presented  in  that  paper  and  published  in  the  Proceedings  of  the 
Association  for  that  year  (Vol.  XXXVII,  p.  201) :  - 

I  am  disposed  to  regard  it  as  a  "  comprehensive  type  "  of  vascular  crypto- 
gamic  life,  embodying  some  of  the  characters  of  several  well  known  living 
types,  viz.,  1.  The  large  tufted  central  base  is  suggestive  of  that  of  most 
species  of  Isoetes,  and  the  long  weak  stems  of  certain  of  these  species  are 
observed  to  recline  and  lie  prostrate  in  all  directions  around  this  center. 
2.  The  double  row  of  spore-cases  at  the  apex  of  the  stem  agrees  in  all  essen- 
tial respects  with  that  of  Ophioglossum,  and  the  elliptic  expansion  may  be 
regarded  as  homologues  of  the  larger  blade-like  fronds  of  that  genus,  which 
may  easily  be  imagined  to  have  the  spores  borne  along  its  median  line  instead 
of  on  a  special  fruiting  frond.  3.  The  prostrate  sinuous  habit  is  not  widely 
unlike  that  of  certain  creeping  species  of  Lycopodium,  as,  e.g.,  L.  annotinum, 
and  the  tooth-like  appendages  may  be  the  reduced  homologues  of  the  scale- 
like  leaves  of  that  genus.  4.  A  still  further  approach  is  seen  in  Selaginella 
where  the  scales  have  become  distichous  and  the  stems  flat  and  closely  creep- 
ing. This  parallel  is  well-nigh  complete  in  those  species,  such  as  S.  Douglasii, 
in  which  the  spores  are  borne  in  terminal  spikes,  like  those  of  most  Lycopo- 
diums,  except  that  these  are  more  or  less  flattened  and  two-ranked.  5.  Finally, 
ignoring  the  appendicular  organs  of  Marsilea  we  see  in  the  fruit-bearing  por- 
tion a  further  analogy  to  our  fossil,  the  fruiting  stems  radiating  from  the 
thickened  base  and  bearing  the  spores  at  their  apex. 

The  fossil  would  thus  represent  a  highly  generalized  type  and  may  be 
phylogenetically  related  to  all  these  more  specialized  modern  forms  with 
each  of  which  it  seems  to  possess  some  characters  in  common. 

Such  facts  as  these  incline  me  to  believe  that  evolution  is  not 
always  typically  sympodial,  although  it  is  probably  never  typically 
monopodial.  They  indicate  that  there  sometimes  occurs  what  may 
be  called  polychotomy,  in  which  the  main  trunk  divides  up  some- 
what equally,  producing  a  number  of  large  trunks  or  branches,  each 
possessing  some  of  the  characters  of  the  common  ancestor,  which 
subsequently  become  further  differentiated  and  specialized,  resulting 
in  the  different  existing  forms.  Thus  my  prophetic  Laramie  plant 


CH.  v]  THE   POETIC   IDEA  87 

may  have  been  the  common  ancestor  of  Isoetes,  Ophioglossum,  Lyco- 
podium,  Selaginella,  and  Marsilea.  But  as  some  of  these  genera 
have  been  found  to  have  near  relatives  at  least  in  still  older  strata, 
it  is  much  more  probable  that  my  form  is  a  late,  lingering  hold-over, 
somewhat  depauperate,  of  a  much  more  ancient  form. 

This  case,  however,  represents  at  best  a  somewhat  late,  and  rela- 
tively, a  highly  differentiated  type,  and  far  back  of  it  must  have 
existed  more  and  more  homogeneous  forms  in  which  these  characters 
could  not  be  seen,  although  their  elements  must  have  been  present  in 
them.  Such  are  all  the  earlier  ontogenetic  stages  in  the  develop- 
ment of  even  the  highest  living  organisms,  whether  vegetable  or  ani- 
mal, according  to  Von  Baer's  law.  If  these  are  traced  backward  we 
arrive  at  last  at  the  egg,  the  germ  cells,  and  the  sperm  cells,  which 
must  in  some  way  embody  all  the  Anlagen  of  the  mature  organism. 

These  facts  now  belong  to  the  elementary  truths  of  biology 
familiar  to  all  informed  persons.  But  their  familiarity  does  not 
detract  from  their  profound  significance.  It  is,  however,  high  time 
that  the  application  of  all  this  be  made  to  the  poetic  idea,  although 
few  readers  will  probably  need  to  have  it  made  at  all,  since  it  must 
have  already  become  clear  to  them.  It  is  that  a  poetic  idea  is  a 
homogeneous  undifferentiated  truth  embodying  the  germs  of  many  dis- 
tinct truths  which  in  the  process  of  time  and  of  the  general  develop- 
ment of  ideas,  are  destined  to  take  clear  and  definite  forms.  Its 
vagueness  of  both  conception  and  expression  belongs  to  its  essential 
character  as  such,  as  the  exact  psychologic  homologue  of  the  bio- 
logic facts  above  described.  It  was  thus,  for  example,  that  Emerson 
voiced  the  great  truth  of  evolution  when  he  said  :  — 

And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form.1 

1  "  Nature,"  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  originally  published  in  September,  1836. 
This  edition  is  now  very  rare  but  the  essay  occupies  the  first  place  in  Emerson's 
"  Miscellanies,"  published  in  1856.  "  Nature"  is  a  prose  essay,  but  to  it  was  prefixed 
as  a  motto  these  lines :  — 

A  subtle  chain  of  countless  rings 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  brings ; 
The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 
And  speaks  all  languages  the  rose ; 
And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 

In  his  work  on,  "  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson:  his  Life,  Writings,  and  Philosophy," 
Boston,  1881,  Mr.  George  Willis  Cooke  states  (p.  40)  that  "Nature"  was  published 


88  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

Poesis.1 —  I  use  this  term  in  the  primary  sense  of  the  Greek  word 
as  used  by  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  other  of  the  older  Greek 
writers,  and  also  sometimes  by  Plato,  and  not  in  the  later  derivative 
sense  of  poesy  or  poetry.  In  this  sense  it  is  the  exact  opposite  of 
genesis.  It  is  not,  however,  to  be  confounded  with  telesis,  which  is 
the  name  I  give  to  Part  III  of  this  work.  That  is  also  the  antithesis 
to  genesis,  but  in  a  somewhat  different  sense,  and  the  distinction  will 
be  fully  pointed  out.  What  it  concerns  us  to  emphasize  now  is  that 
most  of  what  has  been  said  of  what  is  called  fine  art  is  true  also  of 
practical  art.  Whichever  should  stand  first,  and  they  were  doubt- 
less developed  pari  passu,  inventive  genius,  as  well  as  creative  genius, 
is  a  faculty  for  putting  together  raw  materials  so  as  to  form  new 
combinations.2  The  product  is  something  different  from  that  which 
existed  before.  It  is  a  creation.  Poesis  is  a  form  of  creative  syn- 
thesis. In  esthetic  creation  the  thing  made  is  an  ideal  freed  from 
the  crudities  of  nature  and  beautiful  to  contemplate.  In  inventive 
creation  the  thing  made  is  useful  and  serves  a  practical  purpose. 
Here  the  defects  of  nature  that  are  specially  attended  to  are  the 
obstructions  to  existence.  Nature  is  not  only  crude  and  uncouth 
but  she  is  obnoxious  and  destructive.  She  is  also  wasteful  and 
extravagant,  and  inventive  genius  works  for  economy.  The  special 
quality  to  which  inventive  genius  applies  itself  is  utility.  Here  is  a 
new  or  fourth  category  to  be  added  to  the  conventional  thiee  —  truth, 
beauty,  goodness.  The  useful  is  not  the  same  as  the  good,  as  used 
in  this  formula,  but  it  is  even  more  important  because  of  universal 
application,  while  the  field  of  ethics  is  a  restricted  one  which  is  con- 
stantly contracting.  The  completed  formula  should  then  be :  the 
true,  the  beautiful,  the  good,  and  the  useful,  in  which  the  useful  is 
not  put  last  because  least,  but  only  because  the  last  to  be  recognized. 

But  poesis  is  more  than  invention  and  more  than  art.  It  is  both. 
It  embodies  a  form  of  imagination  as  well  as  a  form  of  creation.  Or 

in  September,  1836.  This  poetic  adumbration  of  modern  evolutionary  doctrine  there- 
fore antedates  Darwin's  "  Origin  of  Species  "  by  twenty-three  years.  As  Emerson 
was  familiar  with  Goethe's  writings  it  is  not  surprising  that  his  works  should  breathe 
the  spirit  of  evolution.  The  remarkable  thing  in  this  is  that  he  should  have  men- 
tioned the  "  worm,"  since  it  is  through  the  Vermes  that  the  vertebrate  type  was  de- 
rived. If  he  had  said  the  snail  the  scientific  character  of  the  passage  would  have 
been  lost. 

1  Gr.  irolriffis,  a  making. 

2  No  one  has  seen  or  expressed  this  truth  more  clearly  than  Condorcet.     See  the 
"Tableau  historique  des  Progres  de  1'Esprit  humain,"  Paris,  1900,  pp.  327  ff. 


CH.  v]  GENESIS  89 

rather,  as  in  esthetic  art,  it  first  creates  an  ideal  and  then  creates  an 
object  which  materializes  that  ideal.  The  chief  difference  is  in  the 
nature  of  that  ideal.  Instead^of  an  ideal  beauty  it  is  an  ideal  utility. 
The  first  step,  ton,  is  a,  form  nf  ima.crjna.tion,  for  there  is  little  in  the, 
raw  materials  used  to  suggest  that  utility  j  Qr>^  'f  Togi.;^  ^  ^'"^ an 
order  of  genius  to  form  such  an  ideal  as  it  does  to  form  an  ideal  of 
symmetry  and  perfection.  Not  enough  has  yet  been  said  of  this 
wonderful  faculty  of  imagination.1  The  popular  conception  of  it  is 
far  too  narrow.  We  sometimes  hear  of  scientific  imagination.  There 
certainly  is  such.  It  is  that  faculty  which  coordinates  the  disor- 
dered impressions  received  through  the  senses  and  out  of  them  con- 
structs a  truth.  For  truth  is  also  an  ideal  and  thought  is  a  form  of 
creative  synthesis.  Experience  never  furnishes  truth.  Nothing  but 
a  creative  faculty  can  bring  truth  from  fact. 

Genesis.  —  Thus  far  I  have  only  considered  the  psychological 
aspect  of  the  subject.  Its  cosmological  aspect  is  still  more  impor- 
tant, but  can  be  better  understood  in  the  light  of  these  studies  in 
mind.  The  truth  now  to  be  enforced  is  that  nature  also  creates. 
The  case  with  which  we  started  of  the  formation  of  chemical  com- 
pounds illustrates  this  truth,  for  every  new  combination  is  not  only 
a  synthesis  but  a  creation.  Something  is  made  to  exist  which  did 
not  exist  before.  It  is  made  of  preexisting  materials,  but  it  is 
different  from  any  of  those  materials.  What  we  miss  is  the  ideal, 
but  while  the  creations  of  mind,  being  telic,  necessarily  proceed  from 
ideals,  the  creations  of  nature,  being  genetic,  do  not  proceed  from 
ideals.  They  are  none  the  less  creations.  Wherever  there  is  com- 
bination, as  distinguished  from  mixture  —  coalescence  as  distinguished 
from  coexistence  —  something  new  results,  and  there  is  creative  syn- 
thesis. But  this  is  the  principal  method  of  nature.  All  the  organ- 
ized movements  in  the  universe  involve  combination  and  coalescence. 
The  word  organic,  in  its  wider  sense,  implies  this.  Relations  that 
are  not  organic  in  this  sense  are  merely  accidental.  They  are  due  to 
conjuncture,  which  is  itself  an  important  factor  in  the  total  make-up 
of  things,  but  does  not  produce  that  intimate  interlocking  of  ele- 
ments necessary  to  render  their  union  a  new  unit.  The  branches 
of  an  oak  may  interlock  with  those  of  an  elm,  but  there  will  be  no 

1  In  the  French  language  imaginer  is  to  invent  as  well  as  to  imagine,  and  the  same 
is  true  for  most  of  the  romance  languages.  The  distinction  between  the  esthetic  and 
the  useful  has  been  differentiated  out  of  the  homogeneous  idea  of  creation. 


90  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

coalescence,  no  cross  fertilization,  but  two  closely  related  species 
of  oak  thus  mechanically  forced  together  will  hybridize.  Entirely 
different  animals,  as  the  cat  and  the  dog,  would  be  sterile  inter  se, 
but  more  nearly  related  ones,  as  the  ass  and  the  horse,  are  partially 
fertile.  An  amalgam  or  an  alloy  can  scarcely  be  called  a  new  prod- 
uct, but  an  acid  or  a  salt  is  a  true  creation.  There  must  be  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  resemblance,  there  must  be  a  mutual  affinity,  before 
there  can  result  that  organic  union  which  constitutes  creation.  The 
synthesis  must  be  natural  and  not  fortuitous. 

It  is  here  that  we  find  the  application  of  creative  synthesis  to  the 
general  fact  of  filiation.  The  natural  order  of  the  sciences  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  more  complex  phenomena  of  the  higher  sciences 
are  the  creative  products  of  phenomena  of  a  lower  order.  The 
former  are  generated  by  the  latter,  and  all  generation,  or  genesis,  is 
creative.  The  relation  between  them  is  organic.  The  more  complex 
sciences  deal  with  these  new  products,  which  are,  indeed,  composed 
of  elements  constituting  the  units  of  the  less  complex  ones,  but  they 
are  no  longer  directly  recognizable  as  such,  having  combined  to  form 
units  of  a  higher  order,  and  it  is  these  higher  units  with  which  the 
complex  sciences  deal.  By  the  laws  of  motion  described  in  the 
fourth  chapter,  under  which  mechanical  motion  is  converted  into 
molecular  motion,  physics  passes  into  chemistry.  By  the  recom- 
pounding  of  chemical  elements,  inorganic  compounds,  and  organic 
compounds,  protoplasm  is  evolved,  and  chemistry  passes  into  biology. 
By  a  further  process  of  recompounding,  to  be  considered  in  future 
chapters,  life  passes  into  mind.  By  a  still  higher  series  of  creative 
acts  man  and  society  come  forth.  None  of  these  steps  will  be  neg- 
lected, but  their  full  treatment  here  would  be  to  anticipate. 

The  order  of  the  dependence  of  the  sciences  is  thus  seen  to  be 
something  more  than  the  inverse  order  of  generality  and  complexity. 
This  of  itself,  as  formulated  by  Comte,  is  a  great  truth,  but  there  is 
a  still  deeper  truth,  viz.,  that  each  of  the  higher  sciences  is  a  prod- 
uct of  the  creative  synthesis  of  all  the  sciences  below  it  in  the 
scale.  Each  science  is  thus  distinct,  though  not  independent.  It  is  a 
new  and  different  field  of  phenomena.  Chemistry  is  not  physics,  but 
a  science  apart.  Biology  is  not  chemistry,  nor  is  psychology,  as  Comte 
maintained,  biology.  Sociology  is  not  psychology,  still  less  biology. 
It  is  a  science,  new  in  two  senses,  viz.,  those  of  being  newly  created  and 
newly  discovered.  It  is  the  product  of  recompounding  of  the  sim- 


CH.  v]  GENESIS  91 

pier  sciences.  The  sociological  units  are  compounds  of  psychological 
units,  but  differ  as  much  from  their  components  as  corrosive  subli- 
mate differs  from  chlorine  or  mercury.  This  principle  also  explains 
the  relation  of  sociology  to  the  special  social  sciences.  It  is  not 
quite  enough  to  say  that  it  is  a  synthesis  of  them  all.  It  is  the  new 
compound  which  their  synthesis  creates.  It  is  not  any  of  them  and 
it  is  not  all  of  them.  It  is  that  science  which  they  spontaneously 
generate.  It  is  a  genetic  product,  the  last  term  in  the  genesis  of 
science.  The  special  social  sciences  are  the  units  of  aggregation 
that  organically  combine  to  create  sociology,  but  they  lose  their  in- 
dividuality as  completely  as  do  chemical  units,  and  the  resultant 
product  is  wholly  unlike  any  of  them  and  is  of  a  higher  order.  All 
this  is  true  of  any  of  the  complex  sciences,  but  sociology,  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  entire  series,  is  enriched  by  all  the  truths  of 
nature  and  embraces  all  truth.  It  is  the  scientia  scientiarum. 

Still  another  vexed  question  finds  its  solution  here,  to  wit,  the 
question  of  the  social  consciousness  or  collective  mind.  It  receives 
the  same  answer  as  the  rest.  The  social  mind  is  a  product  of  spon- 
taneous creative  synthesis  of  all  individual  minds.  In  this  sense  it 
is  real.  That  it  differs  widely  from  any  individual  mind  has  been 
abundantly  shown  by  many  writers.  In  this  case  the  resulting 
compound,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  compared  to  the  component  units, 
somewhat  represents  their  average.  It  seems  to  be  below  the  aver- 
age, but  this  is  partly  from  the  habit  of  only  observing  the  highest 
psychic  phenomena  and  disregarding  the  lowest.  The  social  mind 
sometimes  seems  to  be  embryonic,  i.e.,  to  take  the  form  of  the  more 
primitive  mind  of  man  as  we  observe  it  in  uncivilized  races.  This 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  manifestations  of  the  social  mind  the 
artificial  restraints  of  civilized  life  are  removed.  The  period  of  the 
evolution  of  civility  is  very  short  compared  with  the  precivilized 
period,  and  the  coat  of  civility  is  thin.  "  Scratch  a  Russian  and  you 
have  a  Tartar."  Scratch  a  savant  and  you  have  a  savage.  The 
process  of  becoming  civilized  has  been  one  of  restraint.  The  civil- 
ized man  puts  his  best  foot  forward.  Civilized  life  helps  to  do  this. 
Living  in  houses,  every  one  concealed  from  his  fellows,  favors  the 
process.  Witness  the  restraint  that  people  feel  when  obliged,  even 
for  a  brief  period,  as  in  certain  cottages  at  the  seaside,  to  live  where 
what  they  say  can  be  heard  by  the  occupants  of  adjacent  rooms. 
How  the  tent  life  of  the  earlier  ages  of  European  history  must  have 


92  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

laid  bare  human  character !  That  of  the  army  does  this  now,  as  I 
have  had  occasion  personally  to  observe.  Pioneer  life  and  life 
in  mining  camps  has  the  same  effect.1 

Now,  just  as  in  the  camp,  so  in  the  crowd,  the  restraints  of  civil- 
ized life  are  removed.  The  thin  veneering  that  covers  men's  acts  in 
society  peels  off,  and  the  true  character  of  the  civilized  man  as  an 
enlightened  savage  comes  to  light.  The  veneering  consists  of  about 
half  culture  and  half  hypocrisy.  The  social  mind  partly  lays  off 
both  these  garbs  and  represents  men  more  nearly  as  they  are.  The 
acts  which  would  be  objectionable  in  private  life  are  shifted  to  the 
broad  shoulders  of  all  the  rest.  No  individual  holds  himself  respon- 
sible for  them.  This  has  been  pointed  out  by  various  writers  and 
numerous  illustrations  given.  I  will  add  only  one,  which  relates  to 
one  of  the  most  recently  acquired  civilized  qualities,  viz.,  modesty. 
At  the  Philadelphia  Centennial  Exposition  of  1876  I  saw  a  crowd 
of  orderly,  well-dressed,  and  evidently  genteel  people  around  the 
monkey  cages,  and  men,  women,  boys,  and  girls  alike  were  laughing 
and  shouting  and  gazing  at  actions  of  the  large  apes  which  probably 
not  one  of  those  present,  if  in  small  companies  acquainted  with  one 
another,  would  have  pretended  to  see.  I  made  a  note  of  the  fact  at 
the  time  as  illustrating  how  little  it  requires  to  rub  off  the  thin  wash 
of  modesty  that  covers  civilized  society.  And  it  is  much  the  same 
with  nearly  all  distinctively  civilized  qualities  of  man.  The  erratic 
and  erotic  career  of  Oscar  Wilde  would  furnish  another  illustration 
of  the  same  truth.  Eemove  social  restraints  and  men  will  act  their 
natures,  and  social  ideals  are  so  much  higher  than  human  nature 
that  the  social  mind,  which  is  so  much  nearer  the  natural  mind  than 
the  individual  mind  is  under  these  restraints,  seems  much  lower, 
cruder,  and  more  primitive  than  that  of  individuals.  Its  qualitative 
differences  are  almost  wholly  due  to  the  removal  of  these  restraints. 
Much  more  might  be  said  under  this  head  but  it  would  be  mainly 
a  repetition  of  what  has  been  said  by  others. 

Synthetic  Creations  of  Nature.  —  We  thus  see  that  nature  is  crea- 
tive as  well  as  man,  that  creation  is  genetic  as  well  as  telic,  and  that 
the  products  of  genesis  as  well  as  those  of  telesis  are  products  of 
creative  synthesis.  It  is  these  wide  applications  of  creative  synthe- 
sis that  it  chiefly  concerns  us  to  note,  and  we  may  now  briefly  review 
a  few  of  the  most  important  of  them.  The  fact  to  be  insisted  upon 

1  Dr.  Ross  has  emphasized  this  point.    See  his  "  Social  Control,"  pp.  45,  46. 


CH.  v]  SYNTHETIC  CREATIONS  93 

is  that  evolution  is  through  and  through  creative.  As  change  after 
change  goes  on  from  the  nebular  chaos  toward  universal  cosmos, 
from  cosmos  to  bios,  and  from  bios  to  logos,  long  stretches  inter- 
vene between  these  several  great  stadia,  during  which  the  creative 
products  have  not  as  yet  assumed  such  definite  forms  as  to  consti- 
tute turning  points  or  crises  in  the  march  of  the  world's  progress. 
But  ever  and  anon  such  a  stage  is  reached,  and  a  new  creative 
product  is  brought  forth,  so  unlike  anything  that  has  hitherto 
existed,  and  so  cardinal  in  its  nature  as  to  give,  as  it  were,  a  new 
point  of  departure  to  all  future  evolution.  At  every  such  stage  the 
universe  seems  to  change  front  and  thenceforward  to  march  in  a 
new  direction.  There  have  been  many  such  cosmical  crises,  after 
each  of  which  there  has  been  a  new  universe. 

We  know  not  what  the  absolutely  elementary  state  of  matter  may 
be,  but  the  universal  ether  is  now  almost  as  well  proved  as  the 
existence  of  ponderable  matter.  If  out  of  it  there  once  came  those 
relative  condensations  which  constituted  the  as  yet  homogeneous 
and  undifferentiated  masses  of  diffused  matter  called  nebulae,  this 
must  have  marked  one  of  the  cosmic  epochs  of  which  we  have 
spoken,  and  such  a  nebula  may  be  regarded  as  a  synthetic  creation. 
That  such  nebulae  subsequently  differentiated  into  systems  of  worlds 
of  which  our  solar  system  is  one  is  nothing  more  than  a  statement 
of  the  nebular  hypothesis  of  Kant  and  Laplace.  Every  such  world 
system  is  a  cosmic  creation.  The  history  of  our  planet  has  doubt- 
less been  repeated  thousands  of  times  in  all  the  countless  star  sys- 
tems that  we  have  ocular  demonstration  of  within  the  limits  of  our 
lenticular  universe.  As  we  know  little  of  other  planets  and  much 
of  our  own,  we  can  only  assume  that  the  course  of  evolution  has 
been  similar  in  all.  Confining  ourselves  to  our  earth,  we  practically 
know  that  in  the  course  of  its  history  there  have  been  evolved  three 
of  the  epoch-making  properties  that  we  are  considering,  viz.,  life, 
feeling,  and  thought. 

But  these  properties  belong  to  certain  material  products  that  have 
first  been  evolved,  each  of  which  was  a  new  creation.  They  have 
appeared  at  long  intervals  in  an  ascending  unilateral  series,  and 
each  successive  product,  while  possessing  all  the  properties  of  the 
one  that  immediately  preceded  it,  possesses  the  one  additional  prop- 
erty by  which  it  is  specially  distinguished.  The  activities  mani- 
fested by  these  creative  products  of  evolution  are  either  molecular 


94 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


[PART  n 


or  molar,  and  each  gives  rise  to  some  kind  of  phenomena  which  are 
capable  of  classification.  Each  product  is  at  once  the  effect  of  ante- 
cedent causes  and  the  cause  of  further  effects,  and  the  kinds  of 
causes  to  which  these  latter  belong  may  also  be  classified.  Thus  all 
activities  are  either  molecular  or  molar,  all  phenomena  are  either 
physical,  vital,  psychic,  or  social,  and  all  causes  are  either  efficient, 
conative,  or  telic.  Placing  these  products  in  a  column  in  the  ascend- 
ing order  of  their  development,  and  the  properties  they  possess,  the 
quality  of  their  activities,  the  phenomena  they  manifest,  and  the 
nature  of  the  causes  through  which  they  work,  in  parallel  columns, 
we  shall  have  the  following  table :  — 


SYNTHETIC  CREATIONS  OF  NATURE 


PRODUCTS 

DIFFERENTIAL  ATTRIBUTES 

Properties 

Activities 

Phenomena 

Causes 

Society 

Achievement  > 

Social     j 

Man 

Intellect 

M,                1 

Psychic  J 

Telic 

Animals 

Feeling 

Molar 

Conative 

Plants 

Life 

1 

Protoplasm 

Motility 

J 

Organic  Compounds    •» 

I 

Efficient 

Inorganic  Compounds  [ 

Chemism 

Molecular 

Chemical  Elements      ' 

I 

Physical 

Universal  Ether 

Vibration 

Radiant 

Whether  we  contemplate  the  products  or  the  properties  of  this 
series,  each  of  these  steps  in  evolution,  or  synthetic  creations  of 
nature,  may  be  regarded  as  something  new,  i.e.,  as  something  that 
had  no  existence  before.  Although  their  primary  elements  always 
existed,  the  combinations  resulting  in  the  several  products  constitute 
so  many  distinct  things.  Although  the  properties  are  all  manifesta- 
tions of  the  universal  force,  still  that  force  never  manifested  itself 
before  in  anything  like  the  same  way.  They  are  wholly  different 
modes  of  motion.  Each  new  plane  of  existence  thus  attained  is  a 
fresh  base  of  operations.  The  successive  products  and  properties 
are  so  many  discrete  degrees  in  the  history  of  the  universe.  Only 
his  most  philosophical  disciples  know  just  what  Swedenborg  meant 
by  "  discrete  degrees,"  but  as  he  was  a  true  poet,  this  may  have  been 
a  poetic  idea  or  prophetic  vision  of  the  law  of  evolution  and  universal 
genesis  which  I  have  endeavored  to  sketch.  He  may  have  dimly 


en.  v]  SYNTHETIC   CREATIONS  95 

seen  the  creative  power  of  nature  and  the  principle  of  creative  syn- 
thesis, and  his  discrete  degrees  may  have  been  an  adumbration  of 
the  synthetic  creations  of  nature. 

I  have  not  introduced  worlds  into  the  table  because  all  worlds 
must  consist  of  chemical  elements,  inorganic  compounds,  and  organic 
compounds,  and  the  property  of  chemism  must  be  common  to 
them  all.  Protoplasm,  though  probably  the  result  of  some  form  of 
recompounding  of  organic  compounds,  is  unlike  any  other  product 
of  chemism,  and  marks  the  transition  from  spontaneous  molecular 
to  spontaneous  molar  activity,  which  latter  is  the  fundamental  char- 
acteristic of  vital  or  biotic  phenomena.  It  came  to  stay  and  is,  as 
Huxley  says,  the  physical  basis  of  life.  Out  of  it  sprang  the  plant 
world  and  the  animal  world.  But  the  plant  only  elaborates  inor- 
ganic matter,  while  the  animal  must  re-elaborate  the  organic  matter 
created  by  the  plant.  The  chief  differential  attribute  of  the  animal, 
however,  is  what  I  call  feeling  —  the  property  of  self-awareness. 
The  highest  animals,  it  is  true,  possess  the  germs  of  intelligence,  but 
for  convenience  of  tabular  representation,  and  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses, intellect  may  be  made  to  begin  with  man.  The  will  belongs 
to  animals  and  is  the  kind  of  force  or  causation  that  they  employ. 
At  bottom  it  is  a  form  of  the  efficient  cause,  but  it  is  deserving  of  a 
special  designation.  We  will  call  such  causes  conative.  The  phe- 
nomena presented  by  protoplasm  and  by  plants  are  vital.  The 
differential  (additional)  phenomena  presented  by  animals,  including 
man,  are  psychic.  But  intellect  is  essentially  a  final  cause.  Man, 
with  all  the  attributes  of  all  the  lower  products  and  intellect  added, 
generates  another  and  highest  product,  society.  This  is  also  dis- 
crete and  hitherto  unknown.  That  which  chiefly  distinguishes  it 
from  all  other  cosmic  creations  is  its  capacity  for  achievement  (in  the 
sense  in  which  I  use  the  word,  see  Chapter  III).  Social  phenomena 
thus  inaugurate  another,  and  thus  far  the  last,  new  departure  in  the 
history  of  evolution,  viz.,  the  movement  toward  civilization.  Many 
distinct  lines  of  culture  have  started,  but  only  one  promises  to  pos- 
sess permanent  continuity.  The  recent  rapid  westernizing  of  Japan 
is  probably  an  earnest  of  what  will  be  the  ultimate  result  in  China, 
India,  and  other  Oriental  civilizations,  while  the  weaker  ones  will 
be  simply  absorbed  in  the  mass  of  Occidental  life  that  is  overflowing 
and  overrunning  all  the  remoter  continents  and  the  islands  of  the 
sea. 


96  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

It  will  not  have  escaped  attention  that  these  broad  steps  in  evolu- 
tion are  closely  analogous  to  the  more  restricted  phenomena  of 
organic  development  taking  place  within  one  of  the  cosmic  periods. 
The  fact  is  here  even  more  marked  that  at  every  one  of  the  culmi- 
nating points  a  new  direction  is  given  to  the  whole  scheme  by  the 
appearance  of  a  new  product  with  its  added  attributes.  The  march 
of  cosmic,  as  of  organic  evolution  is  thus  zigzag.  It  resembles  the 
culm  of  certain  grasses  that  changes  its  direction  at  every  joint.  It 
is  perfectly  homologous  to  the  stem  of  a  sympodial  plant,  which 
consists  of  a  series  of  branches  each  of  which  has  appropriated  prac- 
tically all  the  energy  of  the  plant.  For  the  differential  attribute 
which  each  cosmic  product  possesses  in  addition  to  those  of  all 
before  it  immediately  becomes  paramount  and  the  antecedent  ones 
sink  into  relative  insignificance.  Each  product  with  its  concomitant 
attributes  is  thus  a  true  sympode,  and  cosmic  evolution  is  also 
sympodial. 

Finally  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  series  is  parallel  to  that  of  the 
sciences  of  the  hierarchy.  This  follows  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  is 
true,  since  those  sciences  simply  deal  with  the  phenomena  which 
nature  presents.  But  we  saw  that  the  sciences  could  be  arranged 
in  a  natural  succession  and  that  when  so  arranged  they  grew  out  of 
one  another  in  such  a  manner  that  the  term  filiation  could  be 
properly  applied  to  it.  But  this  is  because  there  is  a  corresponding 
relation  among  the  phenomena  themselves.  This  corresponding 
relation  is  the  genetic  succession  of  cosmic  products  with  their 
differential  attributes  that  we  have  been  considering.  The  succes- 
sion is  not  only  genetic  but  tocogenetic.  The  higher  terms  are  gener- 
ated by  the  lower  through  creative  synthesis,  and  are  thus  affiliated 
upon  them.  The  filiation  of  the  sciences  is  the  simple  correlate  of 
the  filiation  of  the  products  and  attributes  of  evolution. 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE   DYNAMIC   AGENT 

GLANCING  again  at  the  table  of  synthetic  creations  of  nature  on 
p.  94,  and  giving  special  attention  now  to  the  second  column  of 
"  properties,"  we  may  note  first  that  it  is  as  true  of  properties  as  of 
products  that  they  are  affiliated  upon  one  another,  the  lower  beget- 
ting the  higher.  It  cannot  perhaps  be  said  to  be  known  that  chem- 
ism  grows  out  of  ethereal  vibrations,  though  the  phenomena  of 
thermodynamics  point  that  way.  But  we  can  almost  say  that  we 
know  that  life  emerges  in  some  way  from  chemism  through  the 
differential  attribute  of  protoplasm,  motility.  That  feeling  sprang 
from  life  will  be  the  thesis  of  the  next  chapter.  The  proof  that 
feeling  created  intellect  will  be  found  in  Chapter  XVII.  That  achieve- 
ment, as  defined  in  Chapter  III,  is  only  possible  in  a  rational  being, 
would  seem  to  require  no  demonstration. 

In  the  second  place  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  mode  of  produc- 
ing effects,  called  the  "  cause  "  in  the  last  column  of  the  table,  is  in 
feeling  conative,  and  in  intellect  telic.  This  distinction  is  funda- 
mental, and  upon  it  depends  the  primary  subdivision  of  sociology. 
A  conative  cause  is,  as  was  stated  in  the  last  chapter,  a  modality  of 
the  efficient  cause,  but  it  is  psychic  instead  of  physical,  and  this  dis- 
tinction, while  not  generic,  is  fundamental,  and  calls  for  a  wholly  dif- 
ferent method  of  treatment.  The  telic  or  final  cause  is  not  a  force, 
as  is  every  form  of  efficient  cause,  but  it  utilizes  efficient  causes  in 
a  manner  wholly  its  own,  and  thus  produces  effects.  It  will  be  both 
convenient  and  correct  to  regard  both  the  conative  and  the  telic 
cause  as  agencies  in  sociology,  or,  still  more  definitely,  as  the  two 
prime  agents  in  society.  The  conative  cause,  being  a  true  force,  is 
the  dynamic  agent,  the  word  dynamic  being  here  used  in  its  primary 
sense  denoting  force.  The  final  cause  is  the  directive  agent  of 
society,  the  nature  of  which  will  be  fully  set  forth  in  Part  III. 

There  are  two  somewhat  different  meanings  of  the  word  dynamic 
in  current  use.  The  primary  one,  based  on  the  etymology  of  the 
H  97 


98  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

word,  simply  relates  to  force.  This  use  of  the  word  is  much  less 
common  than  the  other,  chiefly  because  the  need  of  such  a  term  does 
not  often  arise.  The  second  or  derivative  meaning  relates  to  move- 
ment and  change,  and  this  is  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  most 
frequently  used.  It  is  so  used  in  the  mathematical  science  of  me- 
chanics, and  is  opposed  to  static,  which  there  simply  denotes  that 
the  forces  are  in  equilibrium.  This  meaning  of  the  word  dynamic 
has  been  transferred  to  other  sciences,  but  so  soon  as  it  becomes 
applicable  to  real  and  not  hypothetical  bodies  there  is  almost  neces- 
sarily attached  to  it  the  notion  of  change.  The  more  complex  the 
science  to  which  it  is  applied  the  more  the  idea  of  change  becomes 
prominent  until  in  its  biological,  psychological,  and  sociological  uses 
this  is  the  leading  idea.  It  is  so  often  used  in  connection  with  the 
phenomena  of  evolution  that  we  sometimes  find  it  practically  identi- 
fied with  progressive,  but  all  careful  writers  recognize  that  it  may 
apply  as  well  to  catabolic  or  regressive  phenomena  as  to  anabolic  or 
progressive  ones.  Besides  mechanics,  astronomy,  physics,  and  geol- 
ogy, in  which  dynamic  phenomena  form  regular  departments,  I  have, 
in  the  course  of  my  reading,  observed  its  application  to  chemistry, 
biology,  psychology,  logic  (Tarde),  economics  (Patten),  and  sociology. 

In  all  these  cases  it  is  in  the  secondary  or  derivative  sense  that 
the  term  is  used.  Certain  writers  have  endeavored  to  avoid  this  use 
of  the  word  dynamic  in  two  senses  by  substituting  kinetic  for  the 
secondary  sense,  but  this  does  not  accomplish  the  object,  since  the 
notion  involved  in  kinetic  is  not  the  same  as  the  one  involved  in 
dynamic.  Kinetic  is  essentially  a  physical  term,  and  signifies  actual 
motion,  and  the  opposite  of  it  is  not  static,  but  potential.  The  dis- 
tinction is  clear  enough,  and  almost  the  same  distinction  is  seen  in 
the  two  English  words  motion  and  movement.  Motion  does  not  imply 
change,  unless  it  be  simple  change  of  position,  but  movement  may 
and  frequently  does  imply  transformation.  In  all  the  higher  appli- 
cations of  the  word  dynamic,  from  geology  upward,  the  idea  of  trans- 
formation is  involved.  This  is  the  sense  in  which  dynamic,  and  its 
substantive  form  dynamics,  will  be  used  in  Chapter  XI.  In  the  pres- 
ent chapter,  and  indeed,  throughout  Part  II,  as  the  leading  concep- 
tion embodied  in  the  phrase  dynamic  agent,  the  term  will  be  used  in 
its  primary  or  etymological  sense,  as  relating  to  force. 

All  the  cosmic  products  of  creative  synthesis  —  the  synthetic  crea- 
tions of  nature  —  have  their  characteristic  properties  or  modes  of 


en.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC   AGENT  99 

acting,  and  it  is  through  these  that  they  produce  effects.  Taken 
together  these  active  properties  constitute  the  forces  of  nature. 
These  separate  and  apparently  different  forces,  are,  however,  only 
so  many  modalities  of  the  one  universal  force,  but  it  is  not  only  con- 
venient but  practically  correct  to  treat  them  as  distinct.  Each  of 
these  products,  moreover,  may  be  said  to  form  the  basis  or  subject- 
matter  of  a  science,  and  these  sciences  are  distinct  in  the  same  sense. 
They  are  creations,  and  represent  successively  new  aspects  of  .cosmic 
history.  Every  true  science  is  a  domain  of  forces,  and  the  nature  of 
the  forces  differs  with  the  science.  Indeed  this  difference  in  the 
forces  is  what  constitutes  the  difference  existing  among  the  sciences. 
Without  dwelling  on  the  physical  forces,  and  even  passing  over  the 
vital  forces,  we  may  begin  at  once  the  consideration  of  the  psychic 
forces.  For  the  present,  too,  we  will  omit  the  strictly  zoological 
aspect  of  the  subject,  and  deal  only  with  man.  As  each  product 
possesses  all  the  properties  of  the  antecedent  products  with  its  own 
peculiar  differential  attribute  added,  man  possesses  feeling  in  com- 
mon with  the  lower  animals,  and  the  fact  which  it  is  important  to 
note  just  at  this  point  is  that  feeling  constitutes  the  dynamic  agent, 
and  is  therefore  the  highest  attribute  that  we  have  to  consider  so 
long  as  we  are  dealing  with  the  dynamic  agent. 

Now  feeling  is  a  true  cosmic  force,  as  will  be  fully  shown,  and 
constitutes  the  propelling  agent  in  animals  and  in  man.  In  the 
associated  state  of  man  it  is  the  social  force,  and  with  it  the  sociolo- 
gist must  deal.  Under  this  agency  social  phenomena  take  place 
according  to  uniform  laws  which  may  be  studied  in  the  same  way 
that  the  laws  of  any  other  domain  of  phenomena  are  studied.  Soci- 
ology is  thus  a  true  science,  answering  to  the  definition  of  a  science, 
viz.,  a  field  of  phenomena  produced  by  true  natural  forces  and 
conforming  to  uniform  laws.  But  feeling  as  the  dynamic  agent 
manifests  itself  in  a  variety  of  ways,  and  just  as  it  is  convenient 
and  practically  correct  to  speak  of  a  plurality  of  natural  forces, 
the  modalities  of  the  universal  force,  so  it  is  convenient  and  practi- 
cally correct  to  speak  of  a  plurality  of  social  forces,  the  modalities 
of  the  general  social  force  or  dynamic  agent. 

The  conservation  of  energy  and  correlation  of  forces  are  as  applica- 
ble to  psychic-  and  social  forces  as  to  physical  forces.  This  truth 
has  been  perceived  by  sociologists,  but  failure  to  understand  the 
principle  of  creative  synthesis  has  led  to  grave  misconceptions. 


100  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Some  of  them,  for  example,  talk  as  though  these  higher  forces  were 
eternal  and  could  never  be  added  to  or  subtracted  from,  but  were 
unchangeable  in  quantity.  The  truth  is  that  they  are  compara- 
tively recent  developments.  There  can  be  no  psychic  force  where 
there  is  no  mind,  no  vital  force  where  there  is  no  life.  There  can 
be  no  mind  where  there  is  no  brain  or  nerve  ganglia,  no  life  where 
there  is  no  animal,  plant,  protist,  or  protoplasm.  The  products 
must  first  be  created  in  which  the  forces  inhere,  but  of  course  the 
properties  appear  part  passu  with  the  products,  and  both  conform 
to  the  process  of  genesis,  or  becoming,  through  infinitesimal  incre- 
ments. This  erroneous  conception  of  the  uncreatibility  and  inde- 
structibility of  vital  and  psychic  forces  tends  to  keep  alive  the 
older  and  more  popular  error,  which  survives  from  the  theological 
stage  of  history,  that  the  universe  is  endowed  with  life  and  intelli- 
gence. All  such  erroneous  world  views  rest  on  a  basis  of  truth. 
They  are  simply  crude  conceptions  of  the  truth.  The  soul  of  truth 
contained  in  this  error  is  that  the  universe  possesses  the  potency  of 
life  and  mind.  It  has  within  it  all  the  elements  out  of  which  life 
and  mind  are  constructed.  But  before  life  and  mind  can  exist  they 
must  first  be  constructed.  To  say  that  they  exist  in  some  diffused 
state  in  the  universe  is  as  false  as  to  say  that  houses  exist  in  a  bank 
of  clay  out  of  which  bricks  may  be  made.  Vital  and  psychic  forces 
are  new  creations,  and  they  can  only  be  brought  into  existence 
through  the  delicate  instrumentalities  of  organic  development. 
They  must  come  through  protoplasm,  the  product  of  chemism  and 
be  elaborated  in  the  alembic  of  nature.  Protoplasm  must  be  con- 
centrated in  cytodes  and  cells,  cells  must  be  united  into  the  cormus, 
the  process  must  be  continued  until  tissues  are  evolved  —  ectoderm, 
endoderm,  and  mesoderm  —  and  out  of  these  the  Metazoan  body 
must  be  built.  The  protoplasmic  tracts  and  threads  of  the  Proto- 
zoan must  be  inclosed  in  sheaths  and  sent  branching  and  anastomos- 
ing through  the  animal  body.  Physiological  dynamos  must  be 
established  at  convenient  points,  and  from  these  ganglionic  power 
houses  the  currents  of  life  and  sensibility  must  be  sent  round 
through  the  animal  tissues.  Motor  and  sensor  apparatus  must  be 
perfectly  adjusted.  Finally  a  great  central  storage  battery,  the 
brain,  must  be  devised  and  put  in  charge  of  the  whole  system.  All 
this  must  be  accomplished  before  any  great  development  of  vital 
and  psychic  force  can  take  place.  From  this  point  on  greater  and 


en.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC    AGENT  101 

greater  quantities  of  mind  power  can  be  stored  for  use  until  the 
phenomena  of  intelligence  shall  at  length  dimly  appear  and  thence- 
forward increase  until  mind  reaches  the  stage  at  which  it  can 
contemplate  its  own  history  and  development. 

The  social  forces  are  therefore  psychic,  and  hence  sociology  must 
have  a  psychologic  basis.  It  cannot  be  based  directly  upon  biology, 
which  only  manifests  the  phenomena  of  the  vital  forces.  It  may  be 
said  that  animals  possess  feeling  although  coming  within  the  domain 
of  biology.  This  is  true,  and  psychology  begins  with  the  animal, 
It  is  psychology  that  rests  on  biology.  Here  there  is  direct  filiation, 
and  mind  is  of  biologic  origin.  The  higher  terms  of  the  series  of 
modalities  are :  chemism,  bathmism,  zoism,  and  psychism,  and  there . 
is  complete  filiation  throughout  the  entire  series. 

The  popular  conception  of  "  mind  "  is  wholly  inadequate  for  the 
sociologist.  A  race  of  beings  who  are  capable  of  thinking  on  such 
subjects  at  all  are  certain  to  be  so  much  struck  by  this  thinking 
power  or  faculty  that  they  will  soon  come  to  regard  it  as  constituting 
mind,  and  when  they  use  that  word  it  will  only  be  in  the  sense  of 
the  thinking  faculty.  When  they  advance  still  farther  and  become 
philosophers  this  tendency  increases,  and  we  accordingly  find  most 
of  the  works  on  mind  confined  to  the  thinking  faculty.  The  use  of- 
the  word  mind  in  any  other  sense  is  rare,  but  it  is  obvious  upon  the 
least  reflection  that  it  must  include  much  more.  It  certainly  must 
include  the  feelings,  the  emotions,  the  passions,  the  will.  This  is  of 
course  recognized  by  scientific  psychologists,  who  usually  divide 
psychology  into  two  departments,  the  one  (commonly  put  first)  con- 
sisting of  the  senses  and  the  intellect,  and  the  other  of  the  emotions 
and  the  will.  None  of  these  works,  however,  draw  the  clear  distinc- 
tion between  these  two  departments  of  mind  that  the  sociologist 
requires.  With  him  it  is,  or  should  be  fundamental.  He  must  dis- 
cover the  forces  that  govern  social  phenomena,  and  the  thinking 
faculty  is  not  a  force.  But  feeling  is  a  true  force  and  its  various 
manifestations  constitute  the  social  forces. 

The  feelings  had,  moreover,  a  much  earlier  origin  than  the  intellect, 
so  that  during  a  prolonged  period  they  constituted  the  only  psychic 
manifestations,  and  do  so  still  throughout  practically  the  entire  ani- 
mal world.  The  simplest  forms  of  feeling  developed  out  of  vitality 
through  motility  to  irritability  and  sensibility  in  a  series  of  very  short 
steps.  The  sensori-motor  apparatus  was  the  first  to  develop,  and: 


102  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

for  a  specific  and  practical  purpose,  as  will  be  shown  in  the  next 
chapter.  This  great  primordial  half  of  mind  is  sometimes  appro- 
priately said  to  constitute  the  affective  side  of  mind,  since  it  embraces 
all  the  affections  in  the  broadest  sense  of  that  word.  It  is  also,  with 
equal  propriety,  called  the  subjective  department  of  mind,  the  phe- 
nomena being  wholly  subjective  or  relating  to  the  organism,  and 
never  objective  or  relating  to  the  external  world. 

Without  entering  here  into  other  characteristics  of  feeling,  it  is 
essential  to  our  present  purpose  to  point  out  that  one  of  its  inherent 
qualities  is  that  of  seeking  an  end.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  appetitive, 
and  this  is  popularly  recognized  by  the  word  appetite.  All  appetites 
belong  to  the  subjective  department  of  mind.  A  general  term  for 
this  quality  is  appetition.  Appetition  is  a  motive  and  impels^  to 
action.  It  is  this  that  constitutes  it  a  force.  It  is  the  sensor  side 
of  the  motor  fact,  and  the  force  is  proportional  to  the  intensity  of 
the  feeling.  The  word  motive  has  two  meanings.  It  often  means 
inducement  or  purpose.  This  is  a  telic  sense  not  applicable  here. 
Its  primary  meaning  is  that  which  causes  or  impels,  and  this  is  the 
one  we  are  using.  The  French  language  has  a  separate  word  for 
these  two  ideas,  the  first  being  expressed  by  motif  and  the  second  by 
mobile.  Appetition  is  a  mobile,  not  a  motif.  It  is  an  efficient  cause, 
not  a  final  cause.  In  a  word,  it  is  conative.  It  is  the  psychic  mo- 
tive to  action.  Action  is  certain  to  follow  the  motive  unless  pre- 
vented by  some  physical  obstacle  or  by  other  motives  that  antagonize 
it  and  produce  a  state  of  psychic  equilibrium.  That  is,  it  is  similar 
in  all  essential  respects  to  all  other  natural  forces.  It  is  further 
true  that  no  psychically  endowed  being  can  move  without  a  motive. 
Such  a  thing  would  be  an  effect  without  a  cause. 

In  common  parlance,  appetition,  or  psychic  motive,  is  simply 
desire,  and  desire  of  whatever  kind  is  a  true  natural  force.  The 
collective  desires  of  associated  men  are  the  social  forces.  This  use 
of  the  word  desire  is,  however,  very  broad.  It  embraces  all  wants, 
volitions,  and  aspirations.  From  this  point  of  view  feeling  is  iden- 
tical with  desire.  Primarily  all  feeling  is  intensive.  It  not  only 
consists  in  an  awareness  of  self  but  in  an  awareness  of  some  need. 
Wasting  tissues  constantly  need  to  be  renewed,  and  feeling  consists 
in  a  sense  of  this  need.  With  increased  complexity  of  structure  other 
needs  arise,  until  in  man  and  society  the  wants  are  unlimited  in  num- 
ber and  variety.  Man's  whole  affective  nature  is  composed  of  them. 


CH.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC   AGENT  103 

All  emotions  and  all  passions  consist,  on  final  analysis,  of  appetitions. 
All  cravings,  yearnings,  and  longings,  all  hopes,  anticipations,  aspira- 
tions, andt  ambitions,  are  such.  But  they  may  be  negative,  or  forces  of 
repulsion  instead  of  attraction.  Such  are  fear,  hate,  envy,  jealousy. 
When  the  desire  is  beyond  all  hope  of  satisfaction  they  take  the 
form  of  grief,  sorrow,  disappointment,  and  despair.  Man  is  thus 
a  theater  of  desires,  positive,  negative,  or  suppressed,  all  of  which 
cause  some  form  of  action,  and  which  together  constitute  the  dyna^mic 
agent. 

It  is  therefore  well  worth  our  while  to  consider  for  a  moment 
the  philosophy  of  desire.  Desire  is  a  psychic  condition  resulting 
primarily  from  restraint,  exerted  by  the  impinging  environment, 
to  motor  activity,  and  where  strong  enough  it  overcomes  these 
barriers  and  causes  activity.  It  is  a  sensation,  and  it  must  be 
regarded  as  an  unpleasant  sensation.  The  activity  it  causes  is 
always  expended  in  removing  the  restraint.  Until  this  is  accom- 
plished the  sensation  must  be  a  disagreeable  one.  If  it  were 
agreeable  the  effort  would  be  in  the  direction  of  continuing  it, 
not  of  terminating  it.  Desire  is  therefore  in  the  nature  of  pain. 
It  differs,  however,  from  other  forms  of  pain  in  containing  within 
it  a  suggestion  of  action  for  relief.  A  burn,  a  boil,  or  any  other 
painful  affection,  furnishes  a  sensation  which  does  not  embody  in 
the  sensation  itself  any  suggestion  of  action  that  will  relieve  the 
pain.  All  desire  does  embody  such  a  suggestion,  and  the  action 
suggested  is  certain  to  be  performed  unless  prevented  by  some  of 
the  causes  above  specified.  The  typical  form  of  physical  desire 
is  to  be  found  in  the  phenomenon  of  itching.  Desire  is  essentially 
prurient.  In  cutaneous  affections  causing  this  sensation  the  inclina- 
tion may  become  irresistible  to  produce  an  alteration  in  the  tissues 
affected. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  certain  sensations  which  convey  a  suggestion 
of  the  action  necessary  to  relieve  them,  but  which,  nevertheless,  are 
not  properly  itching.  There  is  a  sort  of  disease  called  mysophobia, 
a  morbid  sense  of  being  unclean,  which  constantly  drives  the 
patient  to  wash  himself.  The  sensation  due  to  being  wet,  espe- 
cially that  of  having  wet  clothing,  is  usually  disagreeable  even 
when  not  attended  with  the  sensation  of  cold,  and  suggests  effort 
to  dry  one's  self.  When  the  sleeve  of  an  undergarment  works  up 
the  feeling  is  very  disagreeable  and  the  pulling  of  it  down  produces 


104  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

a  marked  satisfaction.  Such  sensations  and  many  others,  such  as 
that  of  a  bad  odor  or  a  bad  taste,  though  disagreeable,  are  not  called 
pains,  any  more  than  is  desire,  and  therefore,  as  there  is  no  other  one 
word  for  them,  it  seems  proper  to  use  the  word  pain  in  a  sense 
wide  enough  to  include  all  sensations  that  are  unpleasant  or  which 
a  sentient  being  shuns  or  seeks  to  remove  or  relieve.  In  this 
sense  all  desire  is  pain.  As  distinguished  from  the  more  normal 
forms  of  pain,  which  may  be  called  positive,  desire  may  be  called 
negative  pain.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
discomfort  experienced  by  man  is  due  to  unsatisfied  desire.  But 
the  phrase  unsatisfied  desire  is  tautological,  since  the  quality  of 
being  unsatisfied  is  implied  in  the  idea  of  desire.  All  desire  is 
unsatisfied  desire.  A  satisfied  desire  would  no  longer  be  desire  at 
all.  Desire  might  almost  be  defined  as  dissatisfaction.  Discontent 
consists  entirely  in  the  desire  for  things  that  cannot  be  attained. 

While  desire  is  scarcely  ever  perceived  to  be  pain,  of  which  it 
really  is  a  form,  it  is  very  commonly  regarded  as  a  pleasure,  which 
it  is  not.  This  is  because  in  the  vague,  undisciplined  thinking  of 
the  mass  of  mankind  desire  is  so  spontaneously  and  universally 
associated  with  its  satisfaction  that  the  two  wholly  distinct  things 
cannot  be  separated.  The  fact  is  that  just  as  the  greater  part  of 
all  unhappiness  consists  in  desires  that  are  not  satisfied,  so  the* 
greater  part  of  all  happiness  consists  in  satisfying  desires.  Relief 
from  any  pain,  if  sufficiently  rapid,  can  scarcely  be  distinguished 
from  pleasure.  It  is  relative  pleasure.  If  it  is  arrested  before  it 
is  complete  and  a  portion  of  the  pain  continue,  it  will  soon  be 
recognized  as  such,  although  the  sudden  partial  sensation  may 
have  seemed  to  be  a  pleasure.  Desire  is  a  kind  of  pain  which 
further  differs  from  other  kinds  in  the  possibility  of  more  or  less 
rapid  relief.  As  it  is  always  due  to  something  that  is  withheld 
the  supply  of  that  desideratum  satisfies  the  desire  and  relieves 
the  pain.  In  most  cases,  too,  this  act  of  supplying  the  want 
and  the  consequent  relief  produce  a  peculiarly  agreeable  sensa- 
tion. Desire  represents  a  deprivation,  and  its  satisfaction  consists 
in  the  supply  of  the  thing  of  which  the  subject  was  deprived. 
The  more  intense  the  desire  the  more  gratifying  the  satisfaction. 
Desire  differs  again  from  other  forms  of  pain  in  not  generally 
representing  a  pathologic  state.  Other  kinds  of  pain  usually  re- 
sult from  some  derangement  of  function.  There  is  no  essential 


CH.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC   AGENT  105 

difference  between  them  and  disease.  Most  diseases-  are  painful, 
and  the  pain  is  due  to  such  derangement.  Some  pathologists 
maintain  that  all  disease  is  due  to  some  lack  in  the  supply  of 
those  things  needful  to  perfect  health.  They  may  all  be  reduced 
to  this,  because  even  where  extraneous  bodies  invade  the  system 
and  derange  its  functions  it  may  be  said  that  this  is  equivalent  to 
the  want  of  the  proper  supply.  But  the  sensation  called  desire  pre- 
supposes a  healthy  state  of  the  system.  Desire  is  liable  to  fail  in  a 
diseased  state.  A  strong  craving  for  a  natural  supply  betokens  a 
healthy  state.  Long  deprivation  may  bring  on  a  diseased  state,  or 
the  organs  may  become  atrophied  by  inaction,  usually  at  the  ex- 
pense of  other  organs.  Where  the  supply  is  permanently  with- 
held, such  is  the  adjustability  of  the  physical  constitution  that 
the  desire  will  ultimately  disappear.  Usually  it  takes  some  other 
form.  This  is  the  principle  on  which  slow  habituation  to  different 
kinds  of  diet  and  different  conditions  of  life  become  possible. 

But  supposing  that  the  desire  is  fresh  and  healthy  its  satisfaction 
is  a  pleasure,  and  when  we  consider  the  great  number  and  variety 
of  desires  to  which  man  is  subject  and  the  fact  that  most  of  them 
are  actually  satisfied  sooner  or  later  we  may  form  some  idea  of  the 
volume  of  pleasure  that  is  thus  yielded.  It  constitutes  the  great 
bulk  of  all  that  makes  existence  tolerable.  It  is  possible  to  make 
a  rough  calculation  of  the  relative  amount  of  satisfied  and  unsatis- 
fied desire.  If  the  latter  prevail  over  the  former  we  have  a  social 
state  which  Dr.  Simon  N.  Patten  has  happily  characterized  as  a 
"pain  economy,"  and  if  the  reverse  is  the  case  we  have  his 
"pleasure  economy."1  All  social  progress,  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  phrase,  is  a  movement  from  a  pain  economy  toward  a  pleasure 
economy,  or  at  least  a  movement  in  the  direction  of  the  satisfac- 
tion of  a  greater  and  greater  proportion  of  the  desires  of  men.  It 
"also  involves  the  question  of  the  increase  in  the  number  and  in- 
tensity of  desires,  but  this  cannot  be  entered  into  here. 

In  ordinary  pains  and  in  diseases  from  which  men  recover  the 
lessening  of  the  pain  is  usually  so  slow  that  its  character  as  pain  is 
recognized  as  long  as  it  endures  at  all.  There  is  no  distinct  sense 
of  relief.  This  is  because  there  is  no  basis  for  direct  comparison  of 
greater  with  lesser  pains.  But  if  sufficiently  rapid  for  such  direct 

1  The  Theory  of  Social  Forces.  Supplement  to  the  Annals  of  the  Academy  of 
Political  and  Social  Science,  January,  1896,  pp.  59,  60,  75. 


\ 


106  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

comparison  there  is  a  sense  of  relief  that  is  a  relative  pleasure. 
Most  desires  are  satisfied  rapidly  enough  for  such  a  direct  compari- 
son, and  the  difference  between  the  unsatisfied  and  the  satisfied  state 
is  intensely  vivid.  It  amounts  to  a  pleasure  commensurate  with 
the  intensity  of  the  desire  and  the  completeness  of  the  satisfaction. 
But  it  is  never  instantaneous.  Time  is  always  required,  and  so  far 
as  the  actual  or  presentative  pleasure  is  concerned,  this  is  all  of  it. 
If  it  was  instantaneous  there  would  only  be  a  representative  pleasure, 
viz.,  the  comparison  of  remembered  sensations.  In  the  actual  case 
both  these  elements  exist.  If  only  one  desire  existed  and  was  satis- 
fied this  would  be  all  of  a  man's  happiness.  But  in  point  of  fact  all 
men  are  always  subject  to  a  great  number  of  desires,  and  if  a  fair 
share  of  them  are  satisfied  at  intervals  of  time  there  results  a  gen- 
eral state  which  is  called  happiness.  Besides  the  more  prominent 
and  intense  specific  desires  of  which  every  one  is  always  conscious, 
there  is  constantly  present  in  the  healthy  organism  a  stream  of 
minor  and  chiefly  unconscious  desires  arising  out  of  the  normal 
wants  of  the  system.  These  are  also  being  perpetually  satisfied  by 
the  processes  of  nutrition,  assimilation,  and  metabolism,  and  the 
satisfaction,  if  it  cannot  be  called  pleasure,  that  results  constitutes 
what  is  called  the  "  enjoyment  of  health." 

Schopenhauer  accurately  showed  that  the  satisfaction  of  desire 
was  its  termination,  but  he  drew  the  erroneous  conclusion  that  pleas- 
ure was  only  relief  from  pain,  and  had  no  positive  existence  —  that 
happiness  was  an !  illusion.  Hartmann  sought  to  perpetuate  this 
error.  They  forgot  to  take  into  the  calculation  the  time  element 
that  we  have  been  considering.  This  alone  can  give  reality  to 
pleasure,  and  when  we  recognize  the  perpetual  stream  of  desires 
constantly  being  satisfied,  we  see  that  in  a  normal  human  life 
pleasurable  sensations  of  various  kinds  practically  fill  all  the  inter- 
vals of  existence.  This  constitutes  human  happiness,  and  is  the 
only  object  really  worth  striving  for.  Even  if  we  admit,  as  most 
psychologists  maintain,  that  no  part  of  man's  psychic  activity  is  ab- 
solutely continuous,  but  that  the  stream  of  feeling  really  consists 
in  a.,  series  of  separate  shocks  rapidly  succeeding  one  another,  still 
the  case  is  virtually  unchanged,  since  the  very  fact  that  it  required 
close  psychological  study  to  discover  this,  if  it  is  true,  shows  that, 
to  all  but  the  psychologist,  happiness  is  a  continuous  state.  The 
pulse  and  the  beating  of  the  heart  must  be  specially  observed  to  be 


CH.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC   AGENT  107 

perceived.  Systole,  diastole,  peristalsis,  and  even  breathing,  are 
practically  unconscious,  and  much  more  so  all  the  various  vibrations 
of  the  nervous  system,  ganglionic,  and  cerebral  transformations  that 
generate  feelings  and  emotions. 

Of  the  stronger,  conscious,  and  often  violent  desires  those  of 
hunger  and  love  of  course  hold  the  first  place.  These  are  original, 
i.e.,  not  in  any  sense  derivative,  and  belong  to  all  creatures  above 
the  Protozoa  certainly,  and  perhaps  to  these  also.  They  are  both 
perfectly  typical  desires,  and  all  that  has  been  said  of  desire  in  gen- 
eral applies  to  them.  They  are  the  chief  mainsprings  to  action,  and 
it  may  almost  be  said  that  all  other  desires  are  directly  or  remotely 
derived  from  them.  This  statement,  however,  would  require  quali- 
fication. But  these  forces  have  not  diminished  with  higher  organi- 
zation and  the  appearance  of  other  desires.  They  are  quite  as  strong 
in  man  as  in  animals,  and  in  the  higher  types  of  men  as  in  the  lower 
types.  In  society  they  become  the  principal  social  forces  and  the 
foundations  of  sociology.  They  impel  mankind  to  the  performance 
of  the  great  bulk  of  all  the  operations  of  society.  They  are  strong 
and  reliable  forces  and  capable  of  working  out  spontaneously  most 
of  the  problems  that  physical  life  presents. 

This  truth  has  been  perceived  by  philosophers  and  poets,  but  the 
most  classical  expression  of  it  is  that  of  Schiller  in  his  "  Lyrisch- 
didactische  Gedichte  " :  — 

Doch  well,  was  em  Professor  spricht 
Nicht  gleich  zu  alien  dringet, 
So  iibt  Natur  die  Mutter-Pflicht 
Und  sorgt,  dass  nie  die  Kette  bricht, 
Und  dass  der  Reif  nie  springet. 
Einstweilen,  bis  den  Bau  der  Welt 
Philosophic  zusammenhalt, 
Erhalt  sie  das  Getriebe 
Durch  Hunger  und  durch  Liebe. 

Political  economists  early  seized  upon  it,  and  it  may  be  regarded  as 
the  basis  of  all  economics  also.  The  failure  of  mathematical  econom- 
ics to  meet  the  modern  problems  of  life  and  business  was  not  due 
to  any  flaw  in  positing  the  reliability  of  human  impulses.  It  cor- 
rectly grasped  the  ontogenetic  and  phylogenetic  forces  of  society, 
but  it  grounded  on  the  failure  to  recognize  the  sociogenetic  and  the 
idea  forces.  These,  as  we  shall  see,  were  a  factor  before  the  era  of 
machinery,  and  have  steadily  advanced  in  importance  with  civiliza- 


108  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

tion,  until  they  have  become  second  only  to  the  primary  motives 
that  we  are  considering. 

Ratzenhofer  has  shown  that  all  interest  is  derived  from  satisfac- 
tions. If  we  closely  analyze  this  question  we  shall  see  that  such  is 
the  case.  Interest  is  almost  a  synonym  of  desire  in  the  sense  here 
employed.  Attention  cannot  be  attracted  unless  an  interest  can  be 
aroused,  and  this  can  only  be  done  by  holding  out  the  prospect  of 
some  satisfaction.  If  some  craving  of  the  soul  is  to  be  answered  by 
a  suggested  act  that  act  will  be  performed.  This  is  all  that  is 
involved  in  inducement  or  incentive,  and  when  a  subject  or  an 
action  becomes  attractive,  this  simply  means  that  it  promises  a 
satisfaction  or  pleasure.  Interest  thus  involves  an  ellipsis.  The 
satisfaction  of  desire  is  understood.  Such  elliptical  terms  are  very 
convenient.  They  clothe  the  naked  truth,  and  almost  without  dimi- 
nution of  clearness,  they  convey  the  truth  in  a  delicate  way  to 
minds  that  might  be  somewhat  shocked  or  pained  to  view  it  full  in 
the  face.  Human  interests  thus  constitute  the  equivalents  of  the 
social  forces.  They  are  coextensive  with  the  dynamic  agent  in 
"society. 

Many  other  elements  might  be  enumerated  as  entering  into  so 
complex  a  conception  as  the  dynamic  agent,  and  which  do  not  seem 
at  first  glance  to  come  strictly  under  the  definitions  thus  far  given, 
but  which  in  fact  may  be  reduced  to  them  by  giving  sufficient  lati- 
tude to  the  terms.  Such,  for  example,  are  curiosity  and  wonder, 
considered  as  social  stimuli,  and  no  one  can  deny  the  influence  of 
ennui  in  promoting  activity.  Some  of  these  considerations  will 
recur  in  the  course  of  the  discussion,  but  they  are  too  much  in  the 
nature  of  details  to  be  dealt  with  further  in  this  general  outline  of 
the  dynamic  agent.  With  the  development  of  mankind  the  deriva- 
tive forces  come  more  and  more  into  the  foreground  until  a  point  is 
at  length  reached  at  which  they  seem  at  least  to  be  more  potent 
agencies  than  the  original  forces.  These  are  also  true  natural 
forces  and  simply  swell  the  volume  of  social  energy.  Sociology 
takes  account  of  them  all,  and  is  the  science  which  treats  of  what 
the  social  forces  have  done  and  are  doing,  and  of  how  they  accom- 
plish results. 

As  denoting  the  position  that  sociology  occupies  relatively  to  the 
other  sciences  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  attitude  of  the  civil- 
ized world  toward  the  social  forces  is  analogous  to  the  attitude  of 


CH.  vi]  THE   DYNAMIC    AGENT  109 

the  savage  foward  the  physical  forces.  All  know  that  this  is  one 
•of  apprehension.  Fear  and  not  love  of  nature  is  the  characteristic  of 
primitive  peoples.  "  It  is  an  inherent  attribute  of  the  human  mind 
to  experience  fear  and  not  hope  or  joy  at  the  aspect  of  that  which  is 
unexpected  and  extraordinary." l  There  is  something  peculiarly  awe- 
inspiring  about  the  phenomena  of  nature.  The  fear  they  arouse  is 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  real  danger.  The  danger  of  being  run  over 
by  a  railroad  train,  of  being  thrown  from  a  horse  or  a  carriage,  or  of 
being  killed  by  any  of  the  common  causes  of  accidents,  is  much 
greater  than  that  of  being  struck  by  lightning  or  buried  by  an  earth- 
quake, and  yet  the  fear  of  these  phenomena  is  scarcely  ever  experi- 
enced, while  the  others  are  commonly  much  feared.  Some  one  sent 
out  a  circular  to  many  intelligent  persons  asking  them  what  of  all 
things  they  most  feared.  Few  were  found  to  fear  those  dangers 
which  statistics  show  to  be  the  really  greatest,  but  many  confessed  to 
great  fear  of  natural  events,  lightning,  wind,  cyclones,  hailstones, 
«tc.  A  few  declared  that  their  greatest  dread  was  that  of  being  struck 
by  meteoric  stones !  The  sensation  produced  by  earthquake  shocks  has 
been  graphically  described  by  Humboldt 2  and  Darwin,3  who,  although 
rationally  assured  that  there  was  little  real  danger,  could  not  sup- 
press that  instinctive  terror  that  all  men  have  inherited  from  the 
savage  state  when  all  nature  was  regarded  as  conscious  and  malig- 
nant. It  is  difficult  to  reconcile  this  with  the  blind  foolhardiness 
with  which  people  are  known  to  crowd  up  to  the  foot  of  volcanoes 
to  be  buried  under  molten  lava  at  the  next  great  eruption.  This 
fact  is  psychologically  a  very  complex  one,  and  doubtless  want  and 
habituation  are  large  elements  in  it,  but  at  bottom  I  believe  it  to 
rest  on  a  form  of  superstition  akin  to  that  which  causes  nature  to  be 
unduly  feared.  It  is  a  form  of  fatalism,  a  world  view  characteristic 
of  man  before  he  acquired  a  scientific  conception  of  the  nature  of 
mechanical  causation,  and  under  the  illusion  of  which  he  lost  all 
faith  in  the  efficacy  of  his  own  efforts  or  actions.  For  it  is  precisely 
this  sense  of  personal  helplessness  that  gives  rise  to  those  indescrib- 

1  Humboldt    "Cosmos,"    Otte's    translation,  Vol.    I,    p.    97.      This    translation 
scarcely  does  justice  to  the  original,  which  is  as  follows :  "  Es  liegt  tief  in  der  triiben 
Natur  des  Menschen,  in  einer  ernsterfiillten  Ansicht  der  Dinge,  dass  das  Unerwar- 
tete,  Ausserordentliche  nur  Furcht,  nicht  Freude  oder  Hoffnung,  erregt."    "  Kos- 
mos,"  Cotta's  edition,   12mo,    in  4  vols.,  Stuttgart,  1870,  Vol.  I,  p.  75. 

2  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  137  ff. 

3  "  Journal  of  Researches,"  New  York,  1871,  p.  302. 


110  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

able  terrors  that  natural  phenomena  inspire.  The  idea  of  the  possi- 
bility of  influencing  natural  events  or  controlling  physical  forces 
thus  manifested  is  wholly  foreign  to  the  primitive  man,  and  the  feel- 
ing is  that  if  the  inscrutable  powers  of  nature  really  intend  his 
destruction  there  is  no  remedy. 

Now,  as  already  remarked,  civilized  man,  although  he  has  learned 
not  only  to  avert  the  dangers  of  the  physical  forces  but  even  to  sub- 
jugate and  utilize  them,  has  made  no  progress  with  social  forces,  and 
looks  upon  the  passions  precisely  as  the  savage  looks  upon  the  tor- 
nado. Man  is  only  civilized  in  relation  to  the  lower  and  simpler 
phenomena.  Toward  the  higher  and  more  complex  phenomena  he 
is  still  a  savage.  He  has  no  more  thought  of  controlling,  much  less 
utilizing,  the  social  forces  than  the  savage  has  of  controlling  or  util- 
izing the  thunderbolt.  Just  as  pestilences  were  formerly  regarded 
as  scourges  of  God,  so  the  so-called  evil  propensities  of  man,  which 
are  nothing  but  manifestations  of  social  energy,  are  still  looked  upon 
as  necessary  inflictions  which  may  be  preached  against  but  must  be 
endured.  This  difference  is  wholly  due  to  the  fact  that  while  we 
now  have  sciences  of  physics,  chemistry,  geology,  and  bacteriology, 
which  teach  the  true  nature  of  storms,  electricity,  gases,  earth- 
quakes, and  disease  germs,  we  have  no  science  of  social  psychology 
or  sociology  that  teaches  the  true  nature  of  human  motives,  desires, 
and  passions  or  of  social  wants  and  needs  and  the  psychic  energy 
working  for  their  satisfaction.  The  sociologist  who  has  a  proper 
conception  of  his  science  as  similar  in  all  essential  respects  to  these 
other  sciences,  and  as  having,  like  them,  a  practical  purpose  and  use 
for  man,  looks  upon  the  social  forces  as  everybody  looks  upon  the 
physical  and  vital  forces,  and  sees  in  them  powers  of  nature  now 
doing  injury,  or  at  least  running  to  waste,  and  perceives  that,  as  in 
the  other  case,  they  may,  by  being  first  studied  and  understood,  be 
rendered  harmless  and  ultimately  converted  into  the  servants  of 
man,  and  harnessed,  as  the  lightning  has  been  harnessed,  to  the 
on-going  chariot  of  civilization. 


BIOLOGIC   ORIGIN  OF   THE   SUBJECTIVE   FACULTIES 

THE  supreme  importance  to  sociology  of  the  dynamic  agent,  the 
general  nature  of  which  was  outlined  in  the  last  chapter,  justifies 
any  amount  of  effort  to  acquire  a  full  and  fundamental  conception 
of  it.  The  only  way  in  which  anything  can  be  completely  under- 
stood is  to  learn  its  history.  All  of  nature's  creations  are  genetic, 
and  therefore  their  history  is  always  the  same  as  their  genesis.  As 
these  creations  have  not  always  existed,  but  have  come  into  exist- 
ence at  certain  epochs  in  the  course  of  universal  evolution,  before 
which  they  did  not  exist,  it  becomes  necessary  to  learn  their  origin 
as  an  essential  part  of  their  genesis.  The  problem  before  us,  then, 
is  nothing  less  than  the  origin  and  genesis  of  the  dynamic  agent. 
As  this  includes  only  part  of  mind,  viz.,  the  subjective  faculties,  we 
need  not  concern  ourselves  at  all  with  the  other  part,  or  the  objec- 
tive faculties,  and  may  refer  their  treatment  to  Part  III. 

All  genesis  is  the  result  of  the  operation  of  efficient  causes  pro- 
ducing natural  effects  through_t1i"  Qn-^nTi  of  the  appropriate  forces^ 
A  study  of  the  genesis  of  any  natural  product  consists,  then,  chiefly 
in  a  search  for  the  causes  that  have  produced  it.  The  form  of 
research  is  essentially  setiological.  But  the  principle  of  creative 
synthesis  furnishes  the  clue  to  the  pursuit  of  the  causes  that  have 
produced  the  observed  results.  We  know,  at  least,  that  the  product 
we  are  studying  has  been  created  out  of  materials  of  a  lower  order 
that  existed  anterior  to  it.  It  is  therefore  among  these  materials 
and  their  properties  that  we  must  look  for  the  antecedents  to  the 
more  complex  synthetic  creations  of  nature.  The  small  part  of  the 
universe  that  comes  within  the  range  of  our  powers  of  observation 
reveals  a  movement  from  the  lower  toward  the  higher  orders  of 
phenomena.  Possibly  in  other  parts  there  may  be  a  corresponding 
inverse  movement,  so  that  progress  and  regress  may  upon  the  whole 
exactly  balance  each  other,  but  of  this  we  have  only  a  few  suggestive 
examples.  Our  earth  is  now  capable  of  sustaining  life  over  the 

111 


112  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

greater  part  of  its  surface.  Paleontology  teaches  us  that  there  has 
been  a  gradual  rise  in  the  type  of  structure  of  both  plants  and  ani- 
mals throughout  geologic  time.  History,  ethnology,  archaeology, 
and  what  we  know  of  human  paleontology,  all  combine  to  prove 
that  the  human  race  has  been  slowly  rising  from  lower  to  higher 
states.  In  neither  of  these  series  is  there  any  sign  that  it  is 
approaching  a  culminating  point,  beyond  which  it  will  cease  to  be 
an  ascending  and  become  a  descending  series. 

THE  OBJECT  OF  NATURE 

While  the  scientific  world  does  not  doubt  that  all  the  phenomena 
of  evolution  are  strictly  genetic  and  produced  by  forces  from  behind 
that  push  things  into  their  observed  shapes,  still,  such  unilateral 
tendencies  as  those  last  mentioned  certainly  present  the  appearance 
of  being  directed  toward  an  end,  and  there  is  small  wonder  that 
throughout  the  theological  stage  of  human  thought  it  should  have 
been  believed  that  they  were  thus  directed.  This  stage  covered  the 
entire  formative  period  of  language,  and  the  consequence  was  that 
language  acquired  a  teleological  form  which  it  is  now  very  difficult 
to  modify.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  discuss  the  phenomena  of 
nature  in  any  other  form  of  language,  and  we  are  practically  com- 
pelled first  to  disclaim  all  teleological  leanings  and  then  proceed  to 
talk  in  teleological  terms.  It  certainly  brings  the  idea  more  vividly 
home  to  the  mind  to  speak  of  the  object  of  nature  in  a  case  like  the 
present  than  to  speak  of  the  tendencies  of  things,  and  when  it  is 
understood  that  no  more  is  meant  by  the  former  than  by  the  latter 
form  of  expression  no  special  harm  can  result  from  its  use. 

We  may,  then,  properly  inquire  what  seems  to  be  the  general 
object  of  nature  in  the  creation  of  the  several  higher  and  higher 
products  that  we  have  been  considering.  What  is  the  end  toward 
which  matters  seem  to  be  moving  in  an  ascending  series  of  creative 
acts  such  as  we  observe  in  our  part  of  the  universe  at  the  present 
stage  of  cosmic  evolution?  If^we  go  far  enough  back  throu^h^the 
geologic  ages  of  the  earth's  history  we  ultimately  arrive  at  a  time 
when,if  the  science  of  the  earth  teaches  anything,  there  was  nothing 
in  it  or  upon  it  but  inorganic  matter.  Even  at  the  present  time  the 
amount  of  inorganic  matter  is  so  much  greater  than  that  of  organic, 
or  still  more  of  organized  and  living  matter,  that  it  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive of  this  little  being  blotted  out  leaving  only  a  dead  world.  It 


CH.  vn]  THE   OBJECT   OF  NATURE  113 

is  practically  confined  to  its  surface,  if  we  regard  the  water,  like  the 
air,  as  simply  an  enveloping  medium.  After  an  enormous  period 
following  the  commencement  of  the  formation  of  a  crust  over  the 
molten  mass  of  which  the  earth  was  formerly  composed,  and  which 
is  supposed  still  to  constitute  the  whole  of  its  interior,  the  simplest 
forms  of  life  began  to  appear,  the  earliest  probably  consisting  of 
some  exceedingly  low  form  of  vegetable  organism,  such  as  that, 
whatever  it  was,  which  made  the  graphite  beds  of  the  Laurentian. 
Other  forms  came  slowly  on  until  in  the  Cambrian  we  have  trilobites 
and  molluscs ;  in  the  Silurian,  seaweeds  and  higher  molluscs ;  in 
the  Devonian  land  plants  and  fishes ;  in  the  Carboniferous,  forests 
of  higher  land  plants,  and  so  on  down,  the  quality  and  quantity  of 
life  both  increasing,  until  the  present  flora  and  fauna  of  the  globe 
were  finally  produced. 

Throughout  the  entire  process  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  increase 
in  the  bulk  of  organized  matter  was  attended  with  a  corresponding 
increase  in  the  degree  of  structural  development.  This  might,  it  is 
true,  be  stated  the  other  way,  but  the  lesson"  would  be  the  same. 
That  lesson  seems  to  be  that  the  increased  structural  development  is 
the  condition  to  the  increased  mass  of  organized  matter.  It  is  prob- 
able that  the  quantity  of  lowly  organized  matter  still  largely  pre- 
dominates over  that  of  the  highly  organized,  but  among  land  plants 
the  higher  types,  such  as  the  coniferous  and  dicotyledonous  forest 
trees,  predominate  over  the  lower  types,  such  as  the  ferns  and 
mosses.  Among  animals  the  herds  of  ungulates  that  roamed  over 
vast  areas  before  man  commenced  their  systematic  extermination 
may  have  constituted  the  larger  part  of  the  animal  life  of  the  globe, 
considered  from  the  sole  point  of  view  of  mass  of  organized  matter, 
weight,  for  example.  But  man,  after  all,  has  done  little  more  than 
substitute  domestic  for  feral  creatures,  and  there  probably  never 
were  as  many  bisons  on  the  western  plains  of  America  as  there  now 
are  cattle  on  the  same  area,  while  the  animals  that  man  keeps  in 
existence  in  thickly  peopled  countries  doubtless  greatly  exceed  in  bulk 
and  weight  the  faunas  of  those  countries  before  they  were  settled  by 
man.  Even  if  we  consider  the  subject  from  the  standpoint  of  brain 
development,  as  the  highest  form  of  structural  organization,  we  shall 
find  the  law  to  hold  good,  for  it  is  this  that  has  enabled  the  human 
race  to  increase  until  the  population  of  the  globe  has  reached  about 
1,600,000,000,  the  aggregate  mass  of  whose  bodies  represents,  in 


114  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

addition  to  an  undiminished  quantity  of  animal  life,  a  larger  amount 
of  organized  matter  than  could  have  been  produced  without  the  aid 
of  such  brain  development. 

We  may  therefore  probably  say  with  some  approach  toward  the 
truth  that  the  object  of  nature,  as  this  phrase  has  been  explained,  is 
to  convert  as  large  an  amount  as  possible  of  inorganic  into  organic 
and  organized  matter.  This  may  be  a  somewhat  unpoetical  conclu- 
sion, and  if  we  could  have  things  as  we  want  them  a  more  delicate 
and  respectable  end  might  be  imagined  for  nature  to  pursue.  But 
we  are  only  trying  to  ascertain  what  the  end  really  is  toward  which 
things  tend,  and  this  formula  comes  nearer  to  expressing  it  than  any 
other  that  has  been  offered.  It  may  be  askedjwhy  the  end  is  not 
rather  structural  perfection.  But^  this,  as^  we  have  seen,  seems  to  be 
a  means  rather  than  an  end.  It  obviously  accomplishes  the  end,  and 
it  seems  to  be  a  more  pertinent  question  how  it  happened  to  be  hit 
upon  as  a  means.  And  here  we  encounter  a  curious  state  of  things 
which  we  shall  find  to  recur  at  almost  every  one  of  the  great  cosmic 
steps.  Weismann  several  times  refers  to  certain  peculiar  phenomena 
which  he  meets  with  in  the  course  of  his  biological  researches, 
for  which  there  seems  to  have  been  no  antecedent  preparation,  and 
which  in  the  normal  course  of  things  would  not  be  expected.  In 
fact  they  are  usually  more  or  less  contrary  to  the  expected  result, 
and  seem  like  mistakes  in  the  economy  of  nature.  For  such  phe- 
nomena he  uses  the  term  "unintended."  A  course  or  series  of 
events  is  set  on  foot  generating  certain  products  and  properties, 
when  at  length  some  of  these  latter  begin  to  work  at  cross  purposes 
to  the  general  movement  and  tend  to  antagonize  it.  They  were 
created  for  one  purpose  which  they  serve,  but  are  found  to  possess 
other  qualities  which  develop  until  they  overshadow  the  original 
qualities  and  react  against  the  normal  course  of  things. 

Structural  development  in  organic  beings  sometimes  comes  partly 
within  this  class  of  occurrences.  It  serves  its  purpose  admirably  at 
the  beginning  and  for  a  long  period,  but  when  it  begins  to  take  the 
form  of  extreme  specialization  it  ceases  to  conduce  to  the  advantage 
of  the  race,  and,  as  shown  in  Chapter  V,  it  prepares  for  its  own 
destruction.  Perfection  of  structure  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  device 
for  securing  the  end  above  described.  It  is  simply  the  means  to 
that  end.  It  therefore  seems  to  be  telic.  Everywhere  in  nature 
genesis  simulates  telesis.  The  true  scientific  explanation  of  this  is 


CH.  vii]  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE  115 

that  the  nisus  of  nature  is  in  all  directions,  and  the  principle  of 
advantage  selects  the  advantageous  course.  We  may  imagine  every 
other  conceivable  method  of  attaining  the  end  to  have  been  tried 
and  all  the  rest  to  have  failed  because  not  advantageous.  If  there 
is  a  path  to  success  it  is  sure  to  be  found  because  all  paths  are  tried. 
This  secures  the  same  result  as  if  a  directive  agent  had  pointed  out 
the  only  true  path,  and  no  other  had  been  tried.  We  lookers-on, 
after  the  success  has  been  achieved,  know  nothing  of  the  infinite 
number  of  failures  because  they  have  left  no  record.  This  may  be 
taken  as  the  general  explanation  of  the  universal  belief  in  teleologv_ 
during  the  theological  period  of  intellectual  development. 

ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

Planets  are  formed  by  the  condensation  of  nebulous  matter.  As 
the  mass  condenses  it  contracts.  The  volatilized  elements  vary 
greatly  in  their  degrees  of  volatility  and  some  of  them,  in  the 
process  of  cooling  through  radiation,  and  from  the  increasing  dis- 
tance from  the  central  mass  (sun),  reach  their  points  of  liquefaction 
earlier  than  others.  From  the  liquid  state  they  finally  reach  the 
viscid  or  molten  state,  and  ultimately  the  solid  state.  Thus  the 
different  substances  become  distributed  according  to  their  constitu- 
tions in  the  mass  of  the  planet.  The  heavier  substances  with  high 
condensing  points  occupy  the  center  and  general  mass,  while  the 
lighter  ones  with  low  condensing  points  remain  at  the  surface. 
Some  of  these,  like  nitrogen,  do  not  combine  with  others,  and 
remain  elementary.  Others,  like  hydrogen  and  carbon,  combine 
with  part  of  the  oxygen.  The  first  of  these  combinations  resulted 
primarily  in  the  formation  of  vast  masses  of  steam,  which  later 
partly  condensed  into  vapor  and  still  later  into  water  or  even  ice. 
Jupiter  seems  to  consist  largely  of  vapor.  The  earth  doubtless  once 
had  an  aqueous  (steam  or  vapor)  envelope  as  thick  as  would  be  made 
by  converting  all  the  waters  of  the  oceans  and  seas  into  vapor.  The 
oxygen  also  seizes  all  the  carbon  and  converts  it  into  the  dioxide, 
which  is  a  gas  at  all  ordinary  temperatures.  After  the  formation 
of  a  crust  all  round  a  planet  there  still  remains  a  large  amount  of 
water  occupying  the  cavities  if  th^  nnrffiPPj  and  an  atmosphere  of 
oxygen,  nitrogen,  carbon  dioxide,  and  aq\iftr>"s  yap™* 

These  last  are  the  principal  materials  out  of  which  the  hioti<>._ 
products  are  formed.      There  is  everywhere  a  universal  chemism, 


116  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

and  different  substances  are  constantly  being  formed  through  the 
contact  and  elective  affinities  of  matter.  Within  a  certain  some- 
what narrow  range  of  temperature,  chiefly  between  the  freezing  and 
the  boiling  points  of  water,  but  increasing  in  both  directions  from 
these  points  so  as  to  reach  a  maximum  near  the  middle  of  the  scale 
(.  that  separates  them  (50°  C.,  122°  Fahr.),  this  chemism  may  be  sup- 

i  posed  to  pass  into  zoism  during  the  process  of  cooling  of  a  planet. 

)  This,  however,  is  of  course  mere  speculation.  What  we  do  prac- 
tically know  is  that  life  did  at  some  time  commence  on  our  own 
planet.  That  this  actual  beginning  of  life  took  place  when  tem- 
peratures were  much  higher  than  they  are  now  even  in  the  tropics, 
is  also  practically  certain.  Of  this  archigonia,  as  Haeckel  calls  it, 
we  are  as  sure  as  we  are  of  the  principal  facts  of  geology.  Whether 
it  is  still  going  on  we  are  not  so  sure,  and  it  is  just  possible  that  it 
may  have  required  higher  temperatures  and  different  conditions  than, 
now  exist  to  originate  the  organic  world.  We  are  not  so  much  con- 
cerned with  this  as  we  are  with  the  products  and  properties  of  life. 
The  products  in  large  measure  we  know,  although  we  may  not 
know  the  absolutely  simplest.  The  primary  differential  attributes 
are  motility  and  irritability,  if  there  is  any  difference  between  these. 
The  simplest  product  we  know  is  protoplasm,  and  this  is  so  simple 
when  viewed  from  the  biological  standpoint  that  it  can  scarcely  be 
called  organic,  yet  when  viewed  from  the  chemical  standpoint  it  is 
so  complex  that  it  cannot  be  classed  among  chemical  substances. 
It  occupies  the  exact  middle  point  between  the  inorganic  and  the 
organic  worlds.  It  was  perfectly  described  by  Huxley  as  the 
"  physical  basis  of  life."  1 

The  sea  is  the  mother  of  all  life.  The  oceans  were  formerly 
larger  and  shallower  than  now,  and  the  waters  must  have  once  been 
very  warm.  Doubtless  there  was  a  time  when  there  was  no  land. 
When  land  first  appeared  it  was  in  the  form  of  islands  and  the 
continents  rose  later.  In  the  warm,  almost  seething  waters  that 
bathed  the  shores  of  these  low  islands  and  incipient  continents  all 
the  conditions  existed  for  the  origination  of  life.  It  came,  and  its. 
history  from  Laurentian  times  to  the  present,  a  period  perhaps  not 
less,  possibly  much  more  than  one  hundred  million  years,  is  fairly 

1  See  Professor  Huxley's  address  with  the  above  title  delivered  in  Edinburgh,  Nov. 
18,  1868,  and  first  published  in  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  February,  1869,  many 
times  reprinted. 


en.  vn]  ORIGIN   OF   LIFE  117 

well  known  by  the  records  left  in  the  rocks.  But  we  are  not  now 
considering  the  forms  that  life  created.  We  are  concerned  at  present 
only  with  the  nature  and  origin  of  life  itself.  Prior  to  the  appear- 
ance of  protoplasm  all  activity  had  been  molecular.  Motion  there 
always  was  in  all  bodies  and  substances,  but  it  was  confined  to  their 
elements  or  chemical  units.  Masses  only  moved  when  impelled  by 
the  contact  of  other  moving  masses.  To  all  appearances  solid  bodies 
are  motionless.  Science  only  has  taught  that  the  particles  compos- 
ing them  are  in  motion.  Even  liquids  and  gases  move  only  wh^n 
impelled  by  some  force  which  is  usually  well  understood.  Yet  the 
inherent  molecular  motions  of  even  the  hardest  substances  are,  when 
properly  considered,  spontaneous.  But  the  term  spontaneous  has, 
from  our  long  ignorance  of  molecular  motion,  been  applied  only  to 
masses  that  move  of  themselves.  The  bodies  capable  of  doing  this 
are  said  to  be  alive.  But  as  all  things  are  endowed  with  spontaneous 
molecular  motion  the  only  difference  between  things  without  life  and 
things  alive  seems  to  be  that  the  latter  are  also  capable  of  spontane- 
ous molar  motion.  The  power  of  spontaneous  molar  motion  is  there- 
fore the  differential  attribute  of  life.  It  is  called  motility. 

Motility  first  appears  in  protoplasm.  There  is  probably  no  essential 
resemblance  between  the  movements  of  protoplasmic  masses  and 
those  purely  physical  movements  that  certain  ingenious  investiga- 
tors have  succeeded  in  producing  in  the  laboratory.  The  principle 
underlying  the  latter,  whatever  it  is,  is  doubtless  wholly  different 
from  that  of  motility.  But  motility  is  so  far  only  an  observed  fact, 
not  itself  a  principle.  Its  principle  cannot  be  said  to  be  known, 
and,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  the  only  hypothesis  that  has  ever  been 
advanced  to  explain  motility  is  that  which  I  proposed  in  1882  and 
formulated  in  the  following  words  :  — 

The  primary  distinction  between  these  most  complex  of  all  known  bodies 
[plasson  or  protoplasmic  bodies]  and  the  less  complex  ones  seems  to  be, 
that  while  in  the  latter  all  their  activities  are  molecular,  in  the  former  they 
are  to  a  certain  extent  molar,  and  carry  with  them  the  whole  or  a  portion 
of  the  substances  themselves.1 

I  there  explained  that  this  might  become  possible  in  consequence 
of  the  relatively  enormous  size  of  the  molecules  of  protoplasm,  and 
showed  that  the  isomeric  forms  of  the  next  most  complex  chemical 
substances,  the  albuminoid  and  protein  bodies,  constitute  a  certain 

i  American  Naturalist,  Vol.  XVI,  December,  1882,  p.  978. 


118  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

approach  toward  the  property  of  motility.  If  protoplasm  results 
from  the  further  recompounding  of  these  highest  known  true  chemi- 
cal compounds  we  may  well  expect  that  such  a  substance  will  pos- 
sess some  remarkable  property,  and  motility  is  not  too  remarkable 
for  such  an  exalted  product  to  reveal.  The  entire  process  is  one  of 
organization,  but  until  protoplasm  was  reached  the  organization  was 
wholly  chemical.  From  that  point  on  we  have  biotic  organization, 
constantly  rising  in  complexity  from  the  simplest  plasson  bodies, 
the  amoeboid  forms,  the  unicellular  organisms,  and  the  Protista, 
through  the  Protophyta  and  Protozoa  to  the  higher  types  of  vegetal 
ancT  animal  life.  The  life  principle  was  the  effect  of  chemical  organ- 
ization,  but  it  was  the  cause  of  biotic  organization. 

High  chemical  complexity  up  to  a  certain  point,  as  in  the  alkaloids, 
shows  itself  in  such  properties  as  astringency,  bitterness,  corrosive- 
ness,  and  other  intense  activities  rendering  them  poisonous  to  animals 
and  men.  But  the  most  complex  of  all  organic  compounds,  those 
with  the  largest  molecules  and  greatest  atomic  weights,  such  as  the 
albuminoids,  show  their  complex  constitution  by  such  properties  as 
instability  and  isoiiu'rism.  I  Jut,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  only  a  step 
from  these  properties  to  that  of  motility,  in  which  the  molecular 
activities  are  so  strong  and  so  adjusted  that  they  are  able  to  sway 
the  mass.  It  may  be  difficult  to  imagine  how  this  is  done.  The 
phenomena  presented  by  the  jumping  bean  may  convey  a  crude  idea 
of  such  a  process.  The  larva  of  the  moth  Carpocapsa  saltitans  finds 
its  way  into  the  seed  of  the  Euphorbiaceous  plant  Sebastiania  Pal- 
meri  and  by  its  activities  causes  the  seed  to  seem  alive  and  move 
and  roll  about.  Intense  activities  of  large  compound  molecules  may 
produce  an  effect  analogous  to  this  upon  the  circumscribed  bodies 
which  they  compose.  This  at  least  may  pass  for  a  hypothesis  of  the 
nature  of  motility  in  protoplasm. 

But  motility  in  its  later  stages  takes  the  form  of  bathmism,1  and 

1  A  few  of  Professor  Cope's  neologisms  have  proved  useful,  and  I  have  not 
hesitated  to  use  this  one,  for  which  there  is  no  other  exact  equivalent.  His  first  use 
of  it  seems  to  have  been  in  his  "Review  of  the  Modern  Doctrine  of  Evolution"  in 
the  American  Naturalist  for  March,  1880,  Vol.  XIV,  p.  176,  but  it  occurs  con- 
stantly in  his  later  works.  See  his  "  Origin  of  the  Fittest,"  p.  205,  and  his  "  Primary- 
Factors  of  Organic  Evolution,"  pp.479,  484.  It  was  in  the  former  of  these  works 
(p.  430)  that  he  expressed  his  acceptance  of  the  theory  I  have  been  stating,  and 
which,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  passage  above  quoted  from  my  paper  on  the  "  Organic 
Compounds  in  their  Relations  to  Life,"  was  proposed  by  me  two  years  earlier  than 
the  publication  by  Loew  and  Bokorny  of  their  researches  leading  to  a  similar  result. 


CH.  vn]  ORIGIN  OF   MIND  119 

becomes  the  universal  growth-force  of  the  organic  world.  What  I 
wish  especially  to  emphasize  here  is  that  motility,  with  its  general- 
ized form,  bathmism,  is  simply  a  property  of  protoplasm  and  of  all 
living  organisms,  as  much  so  as  sweetness  is  a  property  of  sugar, 
bitterness  of  quinine,  or  isomerism  of  protein.  Zoism  is  a  synthetic 
creation  of  chemism. 

ORIGIN  OF  MIND 

We  have  now  to  consider  another  new  property  created  by  the 
synthetic  power  of  nature,  viz.,  the  property  of  awareness,  conscious- 
ness, or  feel  in  <j,  for  in  their  absolute  beginnings  these  tlire'e  'aiV'oiie. 
It  is  the  primordial  stage  of  psychism  and  is  a  synthetic  creation 
of  zoism.1  As  genetic  creation  is  always  a  becoming  there  never 
would  be  any  absolute  line  of  demarcation  between  any  of  nature's 
products  or  properties  if  we  could  know  all  the  terms  of  the  series. 
Between  chemism  and  zoism  there  seems  to  be  a  great  break.  We 
are  acquainted  with  the  molecular  activities  of  chemical  substances 
and  we  have  discovered  the  molar  activities  of  protoplasm.  There 
seems  to  be  a  great  distance  between  them,  But  it  is  probably  due  to 
missing  links  in  the  really  perfect  chain.  There  may  be  many 
kinds  of  protoplasm  possessing  the  property  of  motility  in  varying 
degrees.  But  between  zoism  and  psychism  —  life  and  mind  —  there 
is  no  such  interval,  and  it  becomes  almost  a  metaphysical  specula- 
tion to  discuss  the  question  as  to  where  the  latter  begins.  Do  the 
lowest  animals  feel  ?  Do  plants  feel  ?  Does  protoplasm  feel  ? 
That  the  elements  out  of  which  consciousness  emerges  are  present 
in  protoplasm  there  is  no  doubt.  But  may  we  not  say  the  same  of 
albumen,  of  any  organic  compound,  of  any  substance  whatever  ? 
Hylozoism  cannot  be  denied,  but  its  true  import  can  only  be  grasped 
by  the  light  of  creative  synthesis.  If  we  are  authorized  to  say  that 
molecular  activity  is  not  life,  we  seem  equally  authorized  to  sav 
that  motility  is  not  mind.  The  problem  of  the  origin  of  feeling 
still  confronts  us. 

"  The   proximate   components  of   Mind   are  of  two  broadly-con- 

1  The  word  zoism  must  be  taken  in  its  primary  sense  from  the  Greek  Ifiv,  to  live, 
and  not  as  if  derived  from  fwov,  an  animal.  Zoology  ought  to  have  had  the  meaning 
we  give  to  biology  ;  the  latter,  as  has  been  frequently  pointed  out  by  Greek  scholars, 
is  etymologically  inappropriate,  since  the  Greek  word  /3£os  was  used  for  life  in  a 
moral  or  conventional  sense.  It  was  justified,  however,  by  the  special  meaning 
early  given  to  zoology. 

s 


120  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

trasted  kinds  — Feelings  and  the  Relations  between  Feelings." ]  The 
initial  and  irreducible  element  of  mind  is  feeling.  Feeling  must 
have  had  a  beginning  as  well  as  life.  It  must  have  had  also  a 
reason  for  being.  No  cosmic  step  is  ever  taken  without  a  reason, 
which  is  a  little  different  from  saying  that  no  such  step  is  taken 
without  a  cause.  The  reason  for  the  appearance  of  a  new  creative 
product  is  not  a  final  cause,  but  it  is  not  exactly  the  same  as  its 
efficient  or  "occasional"  (occasioning)  cause.  We  have  seen  that 
life  was  a  means  to  an  end  of  nature.  It  consists  of  a  power  that 
pushes  matter  forward  and  upward  into  a  higher  state.  The  life 
force  is  a  new  phase  of  the  universal  force  making  for  evolution. 
It  pushes  at  every  point  and  transfers  the  largest  possible  quantity 
of  inorganic  matter  to  the  organized  state.  But  a  time  comes,  and 
it  came  very  early,  when  this  process  is  seriously  interfered  with 
by  the  nature  of  the  environment.  Theinnumerable  trials  and 
errors  that  characterize  nature's  method  proved  that  the  most  suc- 
cessful form  of  organized  matter  was  the  colloid  form  in  contradis- 
tinction to  the  crystalloid  form,  which  characterizes  the  formation  of 
inorganic  bodies  below  the  plane  of  life.  This  colloid  matter  must, 
too,  at  least  at  first,  be  soft,  semi-aqueous,  viscid,  and  gelatinous, 
capable  of  being  molded  and  modified  to  any  required  extent. 
These  plasson  or  plastic  bodies  must  moreover  be  so  unstable  that 
they  can  perpetually  renew  their  constituent  particles,  exhausted 
every  moment  by  the  still  dominant  chemism  involved  in  their 
activities.  The  problem  was  to  preserve  the  form  during  this 
transformation  of  the  substance.  The  least  concussion  from  without 
or  disturbance  of  the  medium  threatened  to  destroy  the  entire 
structure  thus  built  up  and  return  its  elements  to  the  mineral 
kingdom.  These  frail  structures,  thus  dependent  upon  renewal 
from  the  medium,  must  also  possess  the  power  to  appropriate  fresh 
material  necessary  to  supply  the  losses  due  to  the  breaking  down 
of  the  complex  molecules  and  their  return  to  the  chemical  state. 
Two  great  necessities  thus  arose  at  the  outset,  that  of  supplying 
the  waste  involved  in  metabolism,  and  that  of  escaping  the  destruo- 
tiveTlnfluences  of  the  environment.  If  an  intelligent  being  were 
asEed  how  these  two  objects  might  be  secured,  supposing  such 
being  to  know  nothing  of  what  actually  did  occur,  such  a  being 
might  not  be  able  to  think  of  any  adequate  means.  To  a  very 
i  Spencer,  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1873,  p.  162  (§  65). 


CH.  va]  ORIGIN  OF  MIND  121 

inventive  mind  the  idea  might  occur.  But  if  such  a  being  were 
told  that  this  new  form  of  matter  acquired  in  some  way  the  faculty 
of  feeling,  this  would,  at  least  upon  a  slight  reflection,  be  seen  to 
satisfy  the  conditions  of  the  problem.  But  let  us  inquire  just  what 
is  meant  by  feeling. 

In  the  firstj^ajjej^iing^n]^  furnishes  an 

interest.  It  cannot  be  indifferent  and  accomplish  the  end  in  view. 
In  another  place  I  shall  show  that  feeling  may  be  indifferent  and 
still  be  feeling,  but  the  form  of  feeling  necessary  to  secure  these  two 
pressing  necessities  of  primordial  plastic  organisms  cannot  be  indif- 
ferent and  must  be  interested.  But  the  only  conceivable  basis  of. 
interest  is  agreeableness  or  its  opposite.  The  only  form  of  feeling 
that  could  accomplish  the  object  is  agreeable  feeling  or  disagreeable 
feeling.  The  appropriation  of  material  needed  to  supply  the  waste 
of  metabolism  must  be  attended  with  some  degree  of  agreeable  sensa- 
tion, and  the  injurious  concussions  made  by  external  objects  must 
produce  sensations  that  are  not  agreeable.  Otherwise  the  property 
of  motility  with  which  these  primordial  plastic  bodies  were  already 
endowed  would  not  take  the  direction  necessary  to  secure  these  ends. 
With  the  faculty  of  experiencing  these  sensations  it  is  clear  that 
motility  would  naturally  take  that  direction,  and  the  creature  would 
have  an  interest  so  to  move  or  act  as  to  appropriate  the  needed  sup- 
plies and  to  escape  the  injury  threatened. 

Can  any  one  think  of  any  other  power,  faculty,  or  property  that 
would  secure  the  same  result  ?  Can  any  one  name  any  other  means 
that  would  accomplish  the  end  ?  Nature  has  not  limited  herself  to 
this  one  means.  Throughout  the  vegetable  kingdom,  at  least  above 
its  most  initial  stages,  other  means  are  chiefly  employed.  Firm 
attachment  to  the  soil,  strong  tissues  protected  by  a  firm  covering  or 
bark,  and  the  formation  of  wood  are  the  chief  dependence  of  plants, 
while  the  nourishment  is  supplied  by  chemical  or  even  physical 
action.  There  is  no  real  proof  that  plants  feel,  and  as  feeling  is  not 
necessary  to  their  existence,  the  principle  of  advantage  does  not  act 
in  the  direction  of  evolving  such  a  property.  In  many  animals,  too, 
although^  all  are  possessed  of  feeling  to  some  degree,  other  means 
of  protection^  notably  shells,  are  common.  But  even  the  Vorticella, 
instead  of  moving  its  cilia  in  a  fortuitous  manner,  gives  them  such 
a  vortical  motion  as  to  draw  the  nutrient  particles  from  all  sides 
into  its  mouth  opening.  But  although  certain  low  forms  of  life  may 


122  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

exist  without  feeling  it  is  evident  that  very  little  of  the  organic 
progress  that  has  taken  place  could  have  gone  on  without  it.  Feel- 
ing may  then  be  regarded  as  a  condition  to  the  existence  of  plastic 
organisms  For  this  purpose,  too,  feeling  cannot  be  indifferent  or 
disinterested.  It  must  be  intensive.  In  plainer  terms,  it  must 
involve,  in  however  feeble  a  degree,  a  capacity  for  pleasure  and 
pain.  We  may  then  say  that  pleasure  and  pain  are  conditions  to 
the  existence!)!'  plastic  "o 


1  have  thus  far  sought  to  avoid  the  nsi-  of  the  word 
because  psychologists  are  not  agreed  as  to  its  meaning.  Non-psy- 
chological writers  are  still  more  at  variance  on  this  point.  Most  of 
this  difference,  it  is  true,  is  due  to  the  habit  of  looking  at  everything 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  most  highly  developed  organisms  in 
which  there  is  a  great  central  ganglion  or  brain  which  controls  the 
actions  of  the  whole  organism.  From  this  point  of  view  nothing  is 
conscious  that  is  not  referred  to  this  high  court  of  arbitration.  But 
the  history  of  organic  development  and  of  the  development  of  the 
nervous  system  of  the  higher  animals  and  man  shows  us  that  this  is 
a  superficial  view  ;  that  there  have  been  all  stages  in  the  process  of 
coordination  ;  and  that  the  final  subordination  of  all  the  lower  gangli- 
onic  centers  to  the  supreme  center  was  the  result  of  ages  of  structural 
progress.  It  may  be  compared  to  the  history  of  the  papacy.  There 
was  a  time  when  every  bishop  was  a  pope,  and  it  took  several  centuries 
to  invest  the  bishop  of  Rome  with  the  supreme  power.  To  deny  con- 
sciousness to  the  lower  ganglionic  centers  is  to  ignore  the  whole  his- 
tory of  animal  development.  There  is  no  doubt  that  even  in  man 
thousands  of  pleasures  and  pains  are  experienced  that  are  never 
referred  to  the  brain  and  of  which  the  man  himself  as  such  knows 
nothing.  Such  feelings  are  no  more  to  him  than  if  they  were  expe- 
rienced by  another  person  or  by  the  lower  animals  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  moves.  These  lower  centers  are  conscious  units,  and  in  a 
certain  sense  exist  for  themselves.  Even  the  brain,  as  the  phe- 
nomena  of  double  and  multiple  consciousness  demonstrate,  is  not 
such  an  indivisible  unit  as  is  commonly  imagined. 

It  is  due  to  these  and  other  misconceptions,  growing  for  the  most 
part  out  of  a  lack  of  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  organic  devel- 
opment, that  such  varied  meanings  are  given  to  consciousness,  and 
that  we  meet  with  such  expressions  as  "  unconscious  feeling  "  and 
"  unconscious  will."  From  my  own  point  of  view  all  psychic  phe- 


CH.  vii]  ORIGIN  OF   MIND  123 

nqmena  are  necessarily  conscious,  and  consciousness  inheres  in  all 
feeling  aucT.s  its  psychic  essence.  The  greater  part  of  the  "  philoso 
pTiy  of  the  unconscious,"  as  taught  by  Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann, 
deals  with  those  deep  subconscious  phenomena  that  do  not  rise  to 
the  level  of  the  throne  of  reason,  but  which,  nevertheless,  as  they 
show,  really  give  the  bent  to  human  action  and  human  history. 
They  represent  the  natura  naturans,  and  are  the  unseen  forces  that  are 
at  work  below  the  surface,  shaping  events  in  apparent  opposition  to 
the  wishes  and  intentions  of  men.  They  thus  appear  unconscious  or 
even  supernatural,  but  in  and  of  themselves  they  as  really  involve 
the  principle  of  consciousness  as  do  the  often  less  wise  and  less  suc- 
cessful decrees  of  the  developed  brain. 

Most  psychologists  and  also  the  world  at  large  regard  conscious- 
ness as  something  that  differs  toto  coelo  from  all  other  things.  They 
are  scarcely  willing  to  admit  that  it  can  be  a  natural  thing  at  all. 
The  testimony  on  this  point  is  so  nearly  unanimous  that  it  seems 
almost  presumptuous  in  any  one  to  attempt  to  stem  such  a  current. 
It  is  not  confined  to  persons  of  a  theological  bent,  but  extends  to  the 
most  outspoken  evolutionists,  like  Spencer  and  Huxley.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  see  why  this  should  be  so.  It  practically  amounts  to  a 
recognition  of  discontinuity,  and  seems  to  me  virtually  to  give  away 
the  whole  evolutionary  or  monistic  hypothesis.  If  at  this  particular 
point  where  psychic  phenomena  begin  there  is  an  absolute  break, 
and  something  is  introduced  whose  elements  are  not  contained  in 
anything  that  preceded  it,  I  do  not  see  why  we  should  find  any  fault 
with  the  introduction  of  any  number  of  such  external  elements  or 
factors,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  for  stopping  short  of  the 
most  arbitrary  theological  explanation  of  all  the  phenomena  of  the 
universe.  But  there  seems  to  be  something  particularly  objection- 
able in  characterizing  consciousness  as  a  property  of  matter.  It  is 
usually  asked :  How  can  we  conceive  of  matter  being  conscious?  And 
often  it  is  declared  that  consciousness  bears  no  resemblance  to  the 
known  properties  of  matter.  It  might  be  answered  that  while  we 
cannot,  in  one  sense,  conceive  of  matter  being  conscious,  still,  in  the 
same  sense,  we  cannot  conceive  of  matter  being  alive,  and  in  the 
same  sense,  we  cannot  conceive  of  matter  being  astringent,  or 
caustic,  or  narcotic.  Can  we  conceive  of  any  property  of  matter  ? 
This  question  is  as  legitimate  as  the  other.  What  we  do  is  to 
observe  that  certain  kinds  of  matter  have  certain  properties  and  cer- 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

tain  other  kinds  other  properties.  And  we  only  observe  that  some 
organized  beings  behave  as  if  they  possessed  what  we  know  in  our- 
selves as  consciousness.  So  far  as  the  resemblance  of  consciousness 
to  any  known  property  of  matter  is  concerned,  no  two  properties 
bear  any  resemblance  whatever  to  each  other.  No  one  could  tell 
anything  about  them  in  advance,  and  no  one  would  have  the  slight- 
est idea  of  the  nature  of  the  properties  of  matter  who  had  not  had 
some  experience  of  them.  It  is  purely  gratuitous  to  assert  that  mat- 
ter could  not  have  such  a  property  as  consciousness.  The  illogi- 
cality of  such  an  assertion  is  increased  when  we  remember  that 
most  of  those  who  are  cocksure  of  it  are  perfectly  willing  to  believe 
that  not  consciousness  alone  but  thought  and  intelligence  are  float- 
ing about  in  space  independent  of  all  matter  and  yet  capable  of 
directing  and  creating  all  the  events  of  the  finite  world.  This  seems 
to  most  scientific  men  unthinkable,  and  why  any  of  them  should  feel 
called  upon  to  react  against  an  attempt  to  explain  mind  as  they 
themselves  explain  matter  and  life  can  only  be  accounted  for  as  a 
last,  lingering  relic  of  the  theological  stage  of  the  development  of 
thought,  holding  over  through  the  metaphysical  and  far  into  the 
scientific  era.1 

We  see  then  that  closely  following  upon  the  chemical  origin  of 
life  we  have  the  biologic  origin  of  mind,  for  ^mind  in  the  form 
of  feeling  or  consciousness  was  only  another  step  in  the  direction 
of  attaining  nature's  great  end,  the  higher  organization  of  matter. 
And  we  can  see  why  Comte,  who  must  have  had  something  of  the 
prophet's  insight  into  this  subject,  declined  to  regard  the  phenomena 
of  mind  as  generically  distinct  from  those  of  life,  and  in  one  of  his 
inspired  passages  referred  to  them  as  the  transcendental  part  of 
biology.2  But  Comte  did  not  clearly  grasp  the  law  of  evolution,  and 
he  had  no  idea  of  creative  synthesis,  which  alone  brings  out  into 
strong  relief  the  different  steps  in  the  evolutionary  process. 

FEELING  IN  ITS  RELATIONS  TO  FUNCTION 

The  same  force  that  pushed  life  into  existence  tends  to  perpetuate 
and  increase  it.  This  is  the  chief  function  of  organic  life,  and  noth- 

1 1  have  treated  this  subject  more  at  length  in  my  lecture  on  the  Status  of  the 
Mind  Problem,  published  as  Special  Papers  No.  1,  of  the  Anthropological  Society  of 
Washington,  1894. 

2  II  faut,  sous  ce  dernier  point  de  vue,  attribuer  surtout  cette  insuffisante  prepon- 
derance actuelle  de  la  philosophic  biologique,  dans  1'ensemble  des  the'ories  sociales, 


CH.  vii]  FEELING   AND   FUNCTION  125 

ing  can  be  genetically  created  that  does  not  assist  in  the  perform- 
ance  of  it.  Such  assistance  is  the  test  of  advantageousness,  and 
nothing  is  advantageous  that  does  not  so  assist.  Feeling,  as  we 
have  seen,  was  the  only  conceivable  means  by  which  plastic  organ- 
isms could  be  preserved  from  destruction  and  enabled  to  perpetuate 
themselves  and  develop.  Plastic  organisms  are  the  only  ones  that 
are  capable  of  those  higher  degrees  of  development  that  we  find  in 
the  animal  kingdom.  They  alone,  frail  as  they  are,  can  survive  and 
at  the  same  time  advance.  Plasticity  is  a  prime  element  in  the  fit- 
ness to  survive,  and  the  "  survival  of  the  plastic  "  1  is  the  survival  of 
the  fittest.  But  it  was  not  so  much  a  question  of  survival  as  a  ques- 
tion of  advancement.  Rigid  organisms,  as  we  have  seen,  can  sub- 
sist and  perpetuate  themselves.  If  not  too  rigid  they  can  advance 
somewhat,  but  their  progress  is  limited.  The  endogenous  trunk 
andT  the  crustacean  coat  of  mail  circumscribe  growth.  By  such 
devices  as  the  exogenous  structure  of  stems  and  the  internal  skele- 
ton of  vertebrates  these  strait  jackets  are  in  whole  or  in  part  removed. 
Flexibility  and  adaptability  are  the  prerequisites  to  structural  prog- 
ress. We  may  gain  a  homely  idea  of  the  superiority  of  plastic  over 
rigid  organisms  by  comparing  the  former  to  a  card  catalogue  and  the 
latter  to  a  blank  sheet  prepared  for  the  registration  of  names.  Calcu- 
late as  closely  as  you  may,  the  latter  is  sure  sooner  or  later  to  be 
congested  in  some  places  and  blank  in  others,  and  ultimately  to 
require  to  be  rewritten,  while  the  card  catalogue  is  perfectly  flex- 
ible, so  that,  no  matter  how  anomalous  the  nature  of  the  entries 
may  be,  every  card  can  go  into  its  exact  place.  Any  one  who  has 
worked  in  the  library  of  the  British  Museum  on  Great  Eussell 
Street,  London,  has  seen  an  example  of  a  rigid  catalogue  on  a  large 
scale.  Card  catalogues  are  to  be  found  in  every  library.  A  plastic 
organism,  like  a  card  catalogue,  is  capable  of  indefinite  expansion  in 
any  advantageous  direction  without  danger  of  being  cramped  or  con- 
gested and  without  hindrance  to  movement  along  the  lines  of  least 
resistance.  This  means  development,  and  as  we  know,  it  is  only 
this  class  of  organisms  that  have  attained  a  high  state  of  development. 

a  I'imperfection  plus  prononcee  qui  distingue  la  partie  transcendante  de  la  biologie, 
relative  a  1'etude  gene'rale  des  phe*nomenes  intellectuals  et  moraux.  "  Philosophic 
Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  p.  342. 

1  So  far  as  I  can  learn  this  phrase  was  first  used  by  Mr.  Clarence  King  in  an  ad- 
dress delivered  at  the  Yale  Scientific  School  in  1877  on  Catastrophism  and  Evolution, 
variously  published.  See  The  American  Naturalist,  Vol.  XI,  August,  1877,  p.  469. 


126  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

If  the  object  of  nature  is  that  which  we  have  supposed  it  to  be, 
and  function  is  the  performance  of  those  acts  necessary  to  the  attain- 
ment of  that  end,  and  if  such  acts  would  not  be  performed  without 
that  interest,  incentive,  or  inducement  which  feeling  supplies,  then 
feeling  is  a  means  to  function.  Considered  in  themselves  feeling 
and  function  are  two  wholly  different  things.  They  have  no  resem- 
blance to  each  other  whatever.  And  although  feeling  is  a  conscious 
state,  still  there  is  no  consciousness,  at  least  in  the  lower  stages  of 
development,  of  the  relation  of  feeling  to  function.  The  conscious 
creature  is  conscious  only  of  its  own  states.  It  is  not  conscious  of 
the  functional  effect  of  its  actions  in  response  to  those  states.  This 
is  one  of  those  late  derivative  forms  of  consciousness  which  are  so 
generally  present  to  the  mind  as  to  crowd  out  or  obscure  the  primary 
conception  of  consciousness.  Feeling  came  into  existence  as  a  means 
to  the  performance  of  function,  not  through  any  foresight  of  the 
necessity  for  the  action.  Not  even  the  simplest  nutritive  acts  are 
known  to  oe  such,  much  less  acts  which  conduce  to  higher  develop- 
ment. The  relation  of  feeling  to  function  as  means  to  end  was 
brought  about  through  adaptation,  and  there  is  a  sort  of  preestab- 
lished  harmony  between  them.  Feeling  was  created  as  an  induce- 
ment  to  functional  activity  not  otherwise  attainable.  The  fact  that 
it  furnishes  such  an  inducement  alone  explains  its  creation.  If  a 
means  existed  it  was  certain  to  be  adopted,  since  all  means  were 
tried.  Thus  is  explained,  the  origin  of  feeling,  and,  as  feeling  is  the 
initial  step  in  the  creation  of  mind,  it  also  explains  the  origin  of  mind. 
Since,  too,  function  is  the  biologic  end,  feeling  is  of  biologic  origin. 

FEELING  AS  AN  END 

Thus  far  we  have  considered  feeling  solely  as  a  mea.nariviz..  the 
means  -to  the  end  of  nature,  increased  life.  But  it  has  another  as- 
pect, and  "hmsr  also  De  considered,  as  an  end  —  the  end  of  the  crea- 
:ture^  This  aspect  is  wholly  novel.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
general  scheme  of  nature.  To  continue  using  the  convenient  teleo- 
logical  language  with  which  we  began,  it  was  not  contemplated  in 
that  plan.  It  was  nnin tenfatf^  Preservation,  continuation,  and  aiig- 
mentation  are  the  three  aspects  of  the  cosmic  end.  These  are  normal 
and  fully  in  line  with  the  whole  evolutionary  movement  thus  far. 
No  other  end  can  be  detected  in  the  scheme.  But  it  merely  hap- 
pened that  at  a  certain  point  it  became  necessary,  in  order  to  secure 


CH.  vn] 


FEELING   AS   AN  END 


127 


<~ 

these  ends  in  the  higher  organic  reaches  of  evolution,  to  furnish 

v*"J* 

these  later  creations  with  some  form  of  interest  that  should_enable  f 
them  to  assist  in  thp.  prosecution  of  the  plan.    Hitherto  the  products  -'" 
of  creative  synthesis  had  been  passive.     Henceforth  they  were  to 
become  active.     Up  to  that  point  nature  had  worked  alone,  unaided  Av^-yK^ 
From  that  point  on  she  was  to  have  their  coopera-    ,  \  JA- 


by  her  creations. 

tion.  As,  in  a  family,  the  parents  must  for  a  long  time  struggle  to 
raise  their  children,  but  later,  when  the  children  reach  the  age  of 
usefulness,  they  begin  to  contribute  to  their  own  support  and  that 
of  their  parents,  so  the  procreative  world  nursed  its  infant  progeny 
through  the  cosmic,  physical,  chemical,  and  early  biotic  periods,  until 
at  last,  when  they  had  reached  the  ages  of  protoplasm,  protist,  and 
plant,  it  became  time  to  intrust  them  with  an  interest  in  the  economy 
of  the  universe.  The  form  which  this  interest  tqnk  wa.s  the  faculty 
of  feeling,  whereby  these  tocogenetic  creations  were  made  to  care  for 
the  Tves.  The  cooperation  of  these  new  factors  was  a  powerful 
aid  and  enabled  nature  to  make  fresh  advances,  and,  indeed,  to 
execute  the  grand  strides  that  characterized  the  higher  organic 
development. 

But  the  creation  of  this  interest  involved  a  series  of  collateral 
consequences  that  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  called  in.  As  we  saw,  the  creature  was  only  conscious 
of  itself.  It  was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  ends  it  was  subserving. 
Its  own  interests  were  its  only  ends,  and  it  was  these  and  these  alone 
that  it  pursued.  It  is  true  that,  at  first  at  least,  and  to  a  large  extent 
at  all  stages,  these  interests  were  parallel  with  the  universal  interest. 
The  preestablished  harmony  was  absolute  in  the  beginning  and  ad- 
mirably served  its  purpose.  But  as  the  end  of  nature  and  that  of 
the  creature  were  totally  different  it  was  natural  that,  with  the 
higher  stages  of  development,  and  throughout  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
life  on  the  globe  during  the  millions  of  years  of  geologic  time,  there 
should  arise  combinations  of  circumstances  in  which  this  parallelism 
would  cease,  and  even  cases  in  which  feeling  and  function  would 
conflict.  Such  in  fact  has  been  the  history  of  the  higher  life,  and 
there  has  ever  been  a  tendency  to  pursue  ends  that  were  opposed  to 
the  ends  of  nature.  There  has  been  a  perpetual  struggle  between 
the  individual  and  the  race,  and  no  one  will  ever  know  how  fierce 
this  struggle  was.  But  the  ultimate  triumph  of  function  in  this 
struggle  is  certain,  since  the  existence  of  the  individual  depends 


, 


128  PURE    SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

upon  it,  and  therefore  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  interest  cannot 
go,  or  beyond  which  if  it  does  go  it  is  cut  off  and  the  record  closed. 
A  certain  amount  of  adaptation  is  therefore  always  necessary,  and 
the  present  state  of  things  shows  that  the  degree  of  inadaptation 
has  never  been  so  great  as  seriously  to  interfere  with  the  law  of 
development. 

But  we  are  not  so  much  concerned  with  the  struggle  between  feel- 
ing and  function  as  we  are  with  the  significance  of  this  new  factor 
thus  added  to  the  history  of  creation.  Feeble  and  accidental  as  was 
its  origin,  it  soon  proved  itself  a  young  giant,  and  suddenly  shot  up 
into  enormous  importance.  It  was  a  true  sympode  and  almost  at 
once  assumed  the  first  place  in  nature.  In  short,  it  was  nothing  less 
than  the  dawn  of  mind  in  the  world.  Before  its  appearance  all 
nature  had  been  mindless  and  soulless.  Henceforth  there  was  to 
be  animated  nature  with  all  that  the  phrase  carries  with  it.  In  it 
were  contained  the  psychic  world  and  the  moral  world.  With  it 
came  pleasure  and  pain  with  all  their  momentous  import,  and 
out  of  it  ultimately  grew  thought  and  intelligence.  Nature  cared 
nothing  for  any  of  these.  They  were  unnecessary  to  her  general 
scheme,  and  not  at  all  ends  of  being.  Mind  was  therefore  an 
accident,  an  incidental  consequence  of  other  necessities  —  an  epi- 
phenomenon. 

The  special  peculiarity  of  this  new  differential  attribute  is  its 
intense  subjectivity.  Sir  William  Hamilton  characterized  feeling  as 
"  subj  ectiyesub  jectivity . " J  It  centers  entirely  in  the  organism.  It 
is  confined  tothein  d  i  vidual  and  has  no  concern  for  the  race.  It 
subserves  function,  but  not  for  the  sake  of  function.  Neither  does 
this  property  furnish  any  notion  of  other  properties.  To  it  objects 
are  either  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  or  else  they  are  as  if  they  were 
not.  in^other  words  it  recognizes  only  qualities,  not  properties. 
These  are  psychic  phenomena,  but  they  are  only  subjectively  psy- 
chic. They  belong  to  the  science  of  psychology,  but  constitute  a 
department  of  that  science  which  is  properly  called  subjective  psy- 
chology. This  department  of  mind  is  distinct  from  the  other  depart- 
ment properly  called  objective,  to  be  treated  in  Part  III,  except  in 
the  sense  that  the  latter  grew  out  of  the  former  in  precisely  the 
same  way  that  feeling  grew  out  of  life  and  life  out  of  chemism. 

1  "  Metaphysics,"  Lect.  42,  Mansel's  edition,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1859,  Vol.  II, 
p.  432. 


CH.  VH]  PLEASURE  AND  PAIN  129 

Mind  is  thus  divided  into  the  two  great  branches,  which  are  prac- 
tically Kant's  Sinnlichkeit  and  Verstand.  Either  may  be  taken  up 
at  its  origin  and  followed  out  throughout  its  development  without 
confusion  with  the  other,  but  I  know  of  no  psychological  work  in 
which  this  has  been  done.  The  two  are  habitually  confounded  and 
inextricably  mixed  up  until  the  reader  finds  himself  bewildered. 
But  the  subjective  or  affective  side  of  mind  is  the  only  one  in  which 
the  interest  in  life  resides,  and  in  its  varied  manifestations  it  consti- 
tutes the  individual's  only  object  in  life.  Feeling,  which  was  cre- 
ated as  a  means,  and  has  remained  the  most  potent  of  the  means  to 
nature's  end,  became  the  sole  end  of  the  sentient  being  and  consti- 
tutes the  moral  world. 

Y 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  PLEASURE  AND  PAIN 

We  have  seen  that  in  its  origin  all  sensation  was  intensive.  It 
was  created  as  an  aid  to  function  and  would  have  been  useless  but 
for  the  interest  that  prompted  to  action.  While  nutrition  and  repro- 
duction are  the  chief  functions  to  be  subserved  by  it  there  are  many 
minor  functions,  the  sum  of  which  is  only  second  in  importance  to 
those  primary  functions.  Every  organ  has  its  special  function  and 
its  exercise  in  the  performance  of  this  function  is  physiologically 
imperative.  Such  exercise  in  every  case  involves  a  satisfaction,  and 
the  sum  of  the  satisfactions  yielded  by  the  normal  exercise  of  all  the 
organs  is  large  and  increases  with  structural  differentiation  which 
multiplies  organs.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  the  normal  and 
healthy  exercise  of  the  faculties  is  attended  with  pleasure.  There 
is  pleasure  in  activity,  provided  the  activity  be  spontaneous  and  con- 
sist in  this  normal  exercise  of  the  faculties.  The  so-called  play 
instinct  is  nothing  but  this,  and  is  not  an  instinct  in  the  proper 
sense  of  the  word.  The  idea  that  pleasure  results  from  ease  and 
inactivity  is  doubtless  derived  from  the  fact  that  man  has  been  long 
enslaved  and  compelled  to  make  laborious  and  painful  exertions  not 
demanded  by  his  faculties.  Mill's  "  paradox  of  hedonism  "  is  based 
on  this  error.  Ennui  is  one  of  the  most  unendurable  of  pains,  and 
is  the  parent  of  Mr.  Veblen's  "  instinct  of  sportsmanship  "  among 
the  leisure  class,  impelling  them  to  exertion  however  useless,  while 
his  "  instinct  of  workmanship  "  is  nothing  else  than  the  result  of 
the  satisfaction  which  all  derive  from  the  exercise  of  their  faculties. 
The  nutritive  and  reproductive  acts  are  nothing  more  than  special- 


130  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

ized  forms  of  the  exercise  of  the  faculties,  the  degree  of  satisfaction 
being  as  much  more  intense  as  the  functions  are  more  imperative. 

It  is  common  to  regard  pleasure  and  pain  as  opposites,  the  former 
as  positive  and  the  latter  negative,  but  this  is  only  a  convenient 
conception  and  is  not  physiologically  true.  When  we  consider  their 
origin  and  purpose  we  see  that  they  were  both  positive  attributes 
created  for  specific  ends.  We  may  call  them  specializations  for 
these  ends  or  adaptations  to  these  ends,  just  as  instincts  and  habits, 
and  various  psychic  attributes,  are  specialized  and  adapted.  All 
pleasure  is  mandatory  and  all  pain  is  monitory.  In  the  higher  ani- 
mals the  entire  nervous  system  is  specialized  to  lure  or  to  warn. 
There  are  pleasure  nerves  and  pain  nerves,  neither  of  which  is  capa- 
ble of  the  other  sensation.  We  are  told  that  where  the  same  organ, 
as  the  tongue  or  palate,  is  capable  of  yielding  both  pleasure  and  pain 
according  to  the  kind  of  substance  brought  into  contact  with  it,  the 
two  sensations  are  furnished  by  different  nerves  lying  together  in 
the  same  tissues.  Besides  these  there  is  usually  a  third  set  of 
nerves  that  yield  the  sensation  of  pain  produced  by  contusion,  heat, 
cold,  etc.  The  entire  system  is  thus  elaborately  adjusted  with  refer- 
ence to  function,  attracting  the  nutritive  and  the  fecundative, 
rejecting  the  nauseous  and  the  noxious,  and  sounding  the  alarm 
against  any  form  of  violence  that  might  threaten  injury  or  destruc- 
tion. All  this  is  emphasized  by  the  fact  that  these  specialized 
nerves  are  not  found  except  where  they  may  be  of  use,  and  are  con- 
fined to  the  periphery  or  other  exposed  surfaces.  The  great  interior 
of  the  animal  body  is  feelingless,  and  the  very  roots  of  the  great 
nerve  trunks  may  be  severed  without  producing  any  sensation  what- 
ever. The  heart  itself  may  be  cut  in  pieces  without  pain ;  obviously 
because  these  parts  are  internal  and  protected,  and  are  not  exposed 
to  the.  dangers  that  beset  the  external  parts  of  the  body.  These 
facts  help  to  furnish  an  idea  of  the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain  as 
means  to  function  and  as  products  of  the  creative  synthesis  of 
nature,  and  to  dispel  the  popular  illusion  that  they  exist  in  some 
way  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  feeling  had  not  been  needed  it  never 
would  have  existed  and  there  would  have  been  nothing  above  the 
vegetable. 

This  conception  of  monitory  pains  and  mandatory  pleasures  lies  at 
the~foundation~of"the  biologic  origin  of  mind.  So  long  as  feeling  and 
function  are  adapted  pleasure  means  life  and  health  and  growth  and 


CH.  viz J  PLEASURE   AND   PAIN  131 

multiplication,  while  pain  points  to  danger,  injury,  waste,  destruction, 
death,  and  race  extinction.  Pleasure  is  anabolic,  pain  is  catabolic. 
Pleasure  and  pain  do  not  themselves  produce  the  beneficial  or  injuri- 
ous effects  ;  they  only  indicate  them.  Pain  itself  does  not  kill,  and 
it  usually  diminishes  or  disappears  as  death  approaches.  But  it 
marks  the  danger  point  and  is  severest  at  the  time  when  it  is  most 
needed,  while  there  is  still  time  to  escape.  But  for  the  individual  it 
becomes  an  end,  and  it  is  pain  and  not  danger  that  it  is  sought 
to  escape.  No  animal  fears  death.  It  has  no  conception  of  death. 
What  makes  the  bird  fly  and  the  antelope  run  is  the  fear  of  pain. 
Because  man  knows  that  danger  usually  involves  life  he  imagines 
that  animals  also  fear  death,  which  is  entirely  a  mistake.  To  the 
individual  pain  is  evil,  and  the  introduction  of  pain  into  the  world 
in  the  manner  I  have  described,  constituted  the  true  origin  of  evil. 
Evil  therefore  was  a  means  of  preserving  life,  and  all  the  evil  in  the 
world  is,  broadly  viewed,  only  premonition. 

On  the  other  hand  pleasure  represents  the  good.  It  denotes  the 
performance  of  function.  To  the  individual  it  is  an  end,  and  so  long 
as  the  original  adaptation  of  feeling  to  function  exists  it  also  secures 
the  end  of  nature.  As  we  have  already  seen,  the  normal  exercise 
of  every  organ  or  faculty  is  attended  with  pleasure,  and  in  health 
the  sum  total  of  all  these  pleasures,  moderate  and  strong,  constitutes 
the  state  called  happiness.  This  satisfaction  lies  afPEEeToundation 
of  the  economic  conception  of  utility.  At  bottom  all  utility  con- 
sists in  satisfaction,  i.e.,  in  pleasure.  And  here  again  we  find  a  clear 
contrast  arising  out  of  the  distinction  between  feeling  and  function. 
It  is  the  contrast  between  utility  and  necessity.  The  standpoint  of 
feeling  is  utility.  The  standpoint  of  function  is  necessity.  The  one 
is  the  good  of  the  individual,  the  other  is  the  good  of  the  race,  or 
more  broadly,  the  furtherance  of  the  general  scheme  of  nature. 
Utility  is^sjibjectivejand  relates  to  feeling;  necessity  is  objective 
and  relates  to  function.  It  is  on  this  same  distinction  that  is  based 
the  contrast  between  happiness  and  virtue.  Happiness  is  subjective 
while  virtue  is  objective.  Virtue  relates  to  function  and  signifies  a 
course  of  conduct  "advantageous  to  the  race  and  the  general  scheme- 
Vice,  in  the  last  analysis,  is  conduct  that  in  some  way  threatens  the 
race,  or  that  antagonizes  the  agencies  making  for  the  preservation 
and  continuance  of  life.  Its  existence  emphasizes  the  fact  that  the 
single  pursuit  of  the  creature's  end  led  to  wide  deviations  from  the 


132  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

normal  path,  and  this,  with  the  higher  and  higher  development  of 
organic  life,  was  increasingly  accentuated,  constituting  a  perpetual 
menace  not  merely  to  the  continuance  of  the  different  species  of  or- 
ganisms but  to  the  success  of  the  organic  experiment  as  a  whole. 
This  ever-increasing  waywardness  on  the  part  of  sentient  beings  in 
search  of  pleasure  must  be  checked  in  the  general  interest  of  life. 

RESTRAINTS  TO  FEELING 

The  origin  of  feeling  was  a  change  of  front  of  the  universe. 
Through  it  nature  seemed  to  cut  loose  from  her  moorings  and  to  be 
drifting  out  on  an  unknown  sea.  The  great  problem  was  to  maintain 
the  relation  of  harmony  that  characterized  the  initial  step.  Feeling 
was  a  new  power  that  was  called  in  to  supplement  the  original  forces 
of  matter  and  life.  The  effect  was  stupendous.  The  new  power 
quickly  overshadowed  the  old  and  took  the  reins  into  its  own  hands. 
But  it  did  not  pursue  the  same  end.  At  the  outset  this  was  imma- 
terial, since  the  pursuit  of  its  own  end  exactly  accomplished  the 
primary  end.  But  this  state  of  things  could  not  always  last,  and 
wayward  tendencies  set  in  very  early.  Then  commenced  that  re- 
markable process,  the  elimination  of  the  wayward,  which  Darwin  called 
natural  selection,  and  which  Spencer,  reversing  the  natural  order  of 
the  terms,  characterized  as  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 

To  check  the  growing  tendency  to  deviate  from  the  path  of  func- 
tion and  thus  jeopardize  the  life  of  the  globe  two  devices  were 
adopted,  the  one  for  the  animal  world  in  general,  the  other  for  man 
alone.  The  first  of  these  was  instinct.  Nothing  has  baffled  philoso- 
phers more  than  the  attempt  to  explain  instinct,  and  the  number 
of  definitions  of  instinct  is  large.  Many  of  these  definitions  are 
approaches  to  the  truth,  and  all  are  agreed  that  instincts  were  essen- 
tial to- any  high  development  of  animal  life.  I  need  only  point  out 
here  that  instinct  is  a  means  of  securing  a  greater  adaptation  of 
feeling  to  function,  or  still  better  expressed,  a  means  of  preventing 
too  great  inadaptation  between  feeling  and  function.  What  was 
needed  was  a  motive  to  induce  animals  to  perform  the  functions 
necessary  to  the  life  of  the  species.  As  no  sentient  being  can  per- 
form any  spontaneous  act  whatever  without  an  interest  in  such  act, 
without  an  incentive  inhering  in  its  nature  sufficient  to  impel  its 
performance,  it  was  absolutely  essential  that  acts  conducive  to  self 
and  race  preservation  should  become  attractive,  agreeable,  pleasur- 


CH.  vn]  RESTRAINTS   TO   FEELING  133 

able.  Through  the  prolonged  operation  of  the  law  of  the  elimination 
of  the  wayward  and  the  consequent  selection  and  survival  of  the 
least  wayward,  there  were  brought  about  modifications  of  the  brain 
and  nerve  structures  of  most  animals  such  as  to  make  pleasurable 
many  acts  which  otherwise  would  have  been  irksome,  but  which  were 

acts  essential  to  the  rearing  of  the  young  and  the  protection  of  the 

. 

species  from  enemies  and  from  climatal  inclemencies.  To  the  looker- 
on  such  acts  are  simply  means  to  functional  ends  and  would  require 
an  act  of  reason  or  telic  process  to  foresee,  but  for  which  no  faculty 
exists  in  the  animal  kingdom  below  man.  The  same  result  was 
accomplished  by  rendering,  in  the  manner  described,  these  means- 
desirable  in  themselves.  Insti^£±_ia.  thfi-Conxei'sion^of  means  into 
1  ends.  The  creature  takes  pleasure  in  the  performance  of  the  acts 
•  that  constitute  the  means  to  function,  and  therefore  it  is  the  same,, 
so  far  as  the  innate  interest  is  concerned,  as  if  it  desired  the  fumv 
tional  ends  themselves.  Without  instinct  most  animal  species 
would  have  early  succumbed  and  the  higher  types  would  have  been 
impossible.  This  would  have  been  mainly  due  to  egoistic  activity 
opposed  to  the  performance  of  functions  essential  to  the  preservation 
and  continuance  of  life. 

The  second  restraint  to  feeling,  which,  as  stated,  was  confined  to 
the  human  species,  has  somewhat  the  nature  of  an  instinct,  and  perT 
haps  might  be  called  social  instinct  or  group  instinct,  but  it  usually 
goes  by  other  names.  The  advent  of  reason,  which  will  be  fully  dis- 
cussed in  Part  III,  had  two  effects  of  the  class  to  .be  considered  here^ 
One  was  greatly  to  increase  the  degree  of  egoistic  activity  and  way-> 
wardness,  and  the  other  was  to  check  the  development  of  animal 
instincts.  Both  of  these  effects  tended  to  widen  the  breach  between 
feeling  and  function  and  thus  jeopardize  the  existence  of  the  human- 
race.  But  while  the  individual  reason  tended  to  destroy  the  race; 
there  grew  up  along  with  it  a  sort  of  group  reason  which  was  partly 
instinct,  calculated  to  counteract  this  tendency.  It  did  not  work  oh 
the  principle  of  animal  instinct,  developing  new  nerve  centers,  or  as 
they  may  be  called,  functional  pleasure  nerves,  but  it  took  the  form 
of  counteracting  the  pursuit  of  dangerous  pleasures  by  the  fear  of 
greater  pains.  But  as  in  the  beginning  moral  suasion  would  have 
been  ineffective,  this  social  instinct  went  further  and  elaborated  a 
system  of  social  control  provided  with  all  the  machinery  of  coercion 
necessary  to  hold  the  refractory  and  recalcitrant  elements  in  check^ 


134  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

It  established  an  array  of  sanctions  and  ultimately  a  system  of  regu- 
lative edicts,  rules,  penalties,  and  conditions,  supported  by  a  body  of 
specially  appointed  persons  to  whom  were  intrusted  their  enforce- 
ment. All  these  were  crystallized  into  customs  and  surrounded  by 
ceremonies  and  rites.  Although  essentially  a  system  of  social  con- 
trol for  the  purpose  stated,  it  early  took  the  form  of  a  religious  sys- 
tem based  mainly  on  supernatural  sanctions.  As  most  deviations 
from  the  path  of  safety  were  due  to  the  exuberance  of  the  egoistic 
reason  acting  as  a  guide  to  dangerous  pleasures,  this  system  sought 
to  compel  a  blind  obedience  to  rules  and  forms  beyond  the  range  of 
reason  and  chiefly  based  on  alleged  supernatural  retributions,  the 
fear  of  which  was  a  powerful  deterrent  to  the  performance  of  for- 
bidden acts.  For  want  of  a  better  name  I  have  characterized  this  , 
social  instinct,  or  instinct  of  race  safety,  as  religion,1  but  not  without 
clearly  perceiving  that  it  constitutes  the  primordial  un differentiated 
plasm  out  of  which  have  subsequently  developed  all  the  more  impor- 
tant human  institutions.  This  "ultra-rational  sanction,"  as  Mr. 
Kidd  calls  it,  if  it  be  not  an  instinct,  is  at  least  the  human  homo- 
logue  of  animal  instinct,  and  served  the  same  purpose  after  the 
instincts  had  chiefly  disappeared  and  when  the  egoistic  reason  would 
have  otherwise  rapidly  carried  the  race  to  destruction  in  its  mad 
pursuit  of  pleasure  for  its  own  sake. 

After  reading  the  article  above  cited  on  the  "Essential  Nature  of 
Religion,"  Mr.  John  M.  Robertson  asked  me  why  I  did  not  say  laio 
instead  of  religion,  as  he  did  not  see  why  all  I  said  would  not  be 
equally  applicable  to  law.  I  was  obliged  to  admit  that  this  was 
true,  and  I  may  go  farther  and  say  that  it  also  applies  to  govern- 
ment in  general.  Mr.  Spencer  has  ably  shown  how  all  the  different 
classes  of  institutions  treated  by  him  had  their  origin  in  what  he 
calls  v  Ecclesiastical  Institutions,"  which  are  simply  the  superstruc- 
tures, or  social  structures,  that  were  erected  upon  the  primordial 
foundation  that  I  have  described.  I  have  limited  the  restraints  to  ( 
feeling  to  two,  instinct  and  religion,  but  a  third  might  appropriately 
be  added  and  called  law  or  government.  But  as  this  is  so  clearly 
only  a  further  differentiation  of  the  second,  it  does  not  seem  neces- 
sary to  regard  it  as  distinct.  As  regards  ethics,  it  is  also  wholly 
embodied  in  the  original  homogeneous  plasm,  and  constitutes  another 

1 "  The  Essential  Nature  of  Religion,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VIII, 
Philadelphia,  January,  1898,  pp.  169-192. 


CH.  vn]  RESTRAINTS   TO   FEELING  135 

ramification  in  the  course  of  the  unfolding  of  that  comprehensive 
principle.  If  this  were  the  place  it  might  easily  be  shown  that,  just 
as  reason,  even  in  early  man,  rendered  instinct  ^nflfiflftqsary,  so  fur- 
ther intellectual  development  and  wider  knowledge  and  wisdom  wilT 


ultimately  dispense  with  both  religion  and  ethics  as  restraints  to 
unsafe  conduct,  and  we  may  conceive  of  the  final  disappearance  of 
all  restrictive  laws  and  of  government  as  a  controlling  agency.  But 
that  the  world  is  still  far  from  this  ideal  state  may  be  realized  by 
reflecting  that  all  that  we  call  vice  and  crime,  and  in  general  all 
attacks  upon  the  social  order,  constitute,  when  we  seize  their  true 
philosophic  import,  neither  more  nor  less  than  so  many  deviations 
from  the  path  of  function  in  the  interest  of  feeling. 

The  considerations  set  forth  in  this  chapter  are  sufficient  to  estab- 
lish the  biologic  origin  of  the  subjective  faculty.  This  faculty  con- 
stitutes the  most  anomalous  of  all  the  differential  attributes  that 
have  resulted  from  the  creative  synthesis  of  nature,  and  by  it  the 
car  of  cosmic  progress  has  been  shunted  off  on  an  entirely  new  track. 
Whither  does  the  new  route  lead  ?  We  shall  endeavor  to  answer 
this  question.  All  that  we  can  note  at  present  is  that  the  new  motor 
is  a  powerful  one,  and  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  necessary  to  apply  the 
brakes.  But  they  have  been  successfully  applied,  and  the  train,  now 
for  the  first  time  laden  with  human  freight,  is  safely  speeding  on. 


CHAPTER   VIII 
THE   CONATIVE   FACULTY 

NATURE  is  not  only  a  becoming,  it  is  a  striving.  The  universal 
energy  never  ceases  to  act  and  its  ceaseless  activity  constantly 
creates.  The  quantity  of  matter,  mass,  and  motion  in  the  universe 
is  unchangeable,  everything  else  changes  —  position,  direction,  veloc- 
ity, path,  combination,  form.  To  say  with  Schopenhauer  that  matter 
is  causality  involves  an  ellipsis.  It  is  not  matter  but  collision  that 
constitutes  the  only  cause.  This  eternal  pelting  of  atoms,  this  driv- 
ing of  the  elements,  this  pressure  at  every  point,  this  struggle  of  all 
created  things,  this  universal  nisus  of  nature,  pushing  into  existence 
all  material  forms  and  storing  itself  up  in  them  as  properties,  as  life, 
as  feeling,  as  thought,  this  is  the  hylozoism  of  the  philosophers,  the 
self-activity  of  Hegel,  the  will  of  Schopenhauer,  the  atom-soul  of 
Haeckel;  it  is  the  soul  of  the  universe,  the  spirit  of  nature,  the 
"  First  Cause  "  of  both  religion  and  science  —  it  is  God. 

In  the  last  chapter  we  traced  the  history  of  this  creative  power  to 
where  it  took  the  form  of  psychic  energy,  which  is  only  a  modality 
of  the  universal  energy.  We  found  that  it  constituted  the  basis  of 
the  subjective  or  affective  faculties  of  mind,  and  that  these  were 
of  biologic  origin  and  were  created  as  a  condition  to  the  existence 
of  all .  the  higher  forms  of  life.  We  also  saw  that  this  remarkable 
property,  feeling,  at  first  so  completely  at  the  service  of  function, 
soon  became  the  end  of  the  creature  and  tended  to  depart  from  its 
normal  course,  threatening  in  manifold  ways  to  defeat  the  very  pur- 
pose for  which  it  was  created,  rendering  necessary  the  further  crea- 
tion of  powerful  checks  to  this  tendency.  So  long  as  the  functional 
ends  of  life  were  not  put  in  jeopardy  these  new  activities  were  harm- 
less, and,  indeed,  since  they  represented  a  great  increase  of  life  power, 
they  were  useful  in  accelerating  the  consummation  of  nature's  ends. 
Feeling  added  to  bathmism  or  growth  force,  psychism  or  mind  force, 
and  greatly  increased  the  quantity  of  force  that  had  been  withdrawn 
from  the  physical  world  and  converted  into  organic  energy.  The 

136 


CH.  vin]  THE   CONATIVE   FACULTY  137 

conative  form  of  causation  now  at  work  was  far  more  potent  than 
the  purely  mechanical  form  that  had  hitherto  prevailed. 

In  defining  the  dynamic  agent  in  the  sixth  chapter  it  was  found 
necessary  to  enter  somewhat  fully  into  the  psychological  nature  of 
this  force  and  deal  with  the  philosophy  of  desire.  That  ground 
need  not  be  gone  over  again,  but  it  can  now  be  better  seen  how 
desire  came  to  constitute  the  real  psychic  force.  While  feeling, 
or  intensive  sensation — pleasure  and  pain  —  must  be  made  primary, 
still  the  step  from  this  stage  to  that  of  desire  is  very  short.  Desire 
presupposes  memory,  which  must  therefore  be  one  of  the  earliest 
aspects  of  mind.  In  fact  memory  is  nothing  but  the  persistent 
representation  of  feeling,  continued  sense  vibrations  after  the 
stimulus  is  withdrawn,  and  involves  no  mystery.  Just  as  a  bell 
will  continue  for  a  time  to  ring  after  the  clapper  ceases  to  beat 
upon  it,  so  the  nerve  fibers,  or  protoplasmic  gelatine,  continues  to 
vibrate  for  a  time  after  the  object,  agreeable  or  the  reverse,  is  no 
longer  in  contact  with  it.  In  case  of  an  agreeable  sensation,  as 
the  pleasure  fades  on  the  withdrawal  of  the  stimulus,  a  desire 
arises  to  renew  or  continue  the  more  intense  presentative  pleasure, 
and  this  is  all  that  constitutes  desire.  But  though  simple  in  its 
explanation,  it  is  powerful  and  far-reaching  in  its  effects.  But  for 
this  interruption  in  the  agreeable  states  with  faint  intermediate 
mnemonic  vibrations  there  would  be  no  activity  directed  to  the 
renewal  or  repetition  of  those  intenser  states.  The  withdrawal  of 
the  stimulus  is  in  the  nature  of  a  deprivation  or  want,  and  this 
is  the  true  character  of  all  desire. 

As  the  activities  thus  produced  normally  led  to  function  and 
secured  the  preservation,  perpetuation,  and  increase  of  life,  it  was 
to  the  interest  of  these  ends  that  this  conative  power  be  increased 
to  the  utmost,  and  consequently  we  find  that  in  the  higher  organ- 
isms special  centers  exist  in  connection  with  the  leading  functions 
for  the  accumulation  of  this  energy,  and  the  performance  of  such 
functions  is  attended  with  intense  satisfaction,  while  inability  to 
perform  them  creates  an  almost  irresistible  desire.  This  is  of 
course  best  exemplified  in  the  two  great  primordial  functions, 
nutrition  and  reproduction,  with  the  corresponding  physical  im- 
peratives, hunger  and  love,  which  are  typical  desires.  But  in  the 
higher  mammals,  and  especially  in  man,  many  other  centers  have 
been  developed  —  storage  batteries  of  psychic  energy  —  which, 


138  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

though  in  the  main  more  or  less  connected  with  the  primary  ones, 
are  practically  distinct.  They  consist  of  nerve-plexuses,  which  are 
mostly  situated  within  the  great  sympathetic  system  and  deeply 
buried  within  the  body,  having  no  connection  with  the  pain  and 
pleasure  nerves  of  the  periphery.  These  latter  belong  to  the 
cerebro-spinal  system  which  is  the  seat  of  most  monitory  desires 
and  also  of  many  mandatory  ones.  The  great  sympathetic  contains 
a  vast  number  of  ganglia  located  in  all  parts  of  the  body,  the 
functions  of  many  of  which  are  little  understood.  But  it  is  main- 
tained by  many  that  these  plexuses,  or  at  least  some  of  the  larger 
ones,  such  as  the  deep  cardiac,  the  semilunar,  etc.,  are  the  seat  of 
the  principal  emotions  of  the  human  soul.  Such  sentiments  as  joy 
and  gladness,  enthusiasm,  love  of  the  helpless,  etc.,  probably  belong 
here.  But  painful  as  well  as  pleasurable  emotions  arise,  and  these 
are  chiefly  in  the  nature  of  desires.  They  all  represent  the  depriva- 
tion of  something  once  enjoyed.  If  there  is  the  least  chance  of 
regaining  the  lost  object  there  is  scarcely  any  limit  to  the  amount 
of  exertion  that  will  be  put  forth  for  the  attainment  of  that  end. 
This  renders  them  the  most  powerful  forces  in  society,  and  next 
to  the  efforts  put  forth  for  the  supply  of  the  primary  wants  above 
mentioned,  the  emotions  constitute  the  chief  social  stimuli  or  social 
forces. 

Descartes  was  the  first  to  treat  the  emotions  from  a  scientific  or 
even  a  philosophical  standpoint.1  He  really  dealt  with  the  subject 
physiologically,  and  if  there  had  been  more  knowledge  in  the  world 
at  the  time  he  wrote  his  work  would  have  been  valuable.  But 
he  knew  practically  nothing  of  the  nervous  system,  its  place  being 
taken  by  the  "  animal  spirits  "  then  recognized  as  flowing  through 
the  body,  and  which  he  described  as  "  un  certain  air  ou  vent 
tres  subtil "  (Art.  7).  But  he  correctly  distinguished  the  "  external 
senses"  from  the  "internal  appetites"  (Art.  13).  He  seems  com- 
pletely to  confound  the  subjective  and  objective  faculties;  cognition, 
perception,  thought,  and  ideas  are  mixed  up  with  volition,  senti- 
ment, emotion,  and  passion.  But  this  is  so  commonly  done  even 
to-day  that  we  should  not  too  severely  judge  it  in  Descartes.  The 
most  curious  part  of  his  treatment  of  this  subject  is  his  favorite 
hypothesis  "that  there  is  a  little  gland  in  the  brain  in  which  the 
soul  performs  its  functions  more  particularly  than  in  other  parts  " 

1  "  Les  Passions  de  1'Ame." 


CH.  vni]  THE   CONATIVE   FACULTY  139 

(Art.  31).  He  here  describes  what  is  now  known  as  the  pineal 
gland,  and  gives  as  his  reason  for  regarding  it  as  the  special  seat  of 
the  soul  "  that  the  other  parts  of  our  brain  are  all  double,  as  also 
we  have  two  eyes,  two  hands,  two  ears,  and  finally  all  the  organs  of 
our  external  senses  are  double;  and  that  as  we  have  but  one  sole 
and  simple  thought  of  one  same  thing  at  one  time,  it  is  necessary 
that  there  be  some  place  where  the  two  images  that  come  through 
the  two  eyes,  or  two  other  impressions  that  come  from  one  single 
object  through  the  double  organs  of  the  other  senses,  can  combine 
into  one  before  they  arrive  at  the  soul  in  order  that  they  shall  not 
represent  two  objects  instead  of  one  "  (Art.  32). 

He  proceeds  to  enumerate,  describe,  and  classify  a  large  number 
of  passions  and  emotions,  and  clings  constantly  to  the  physiological 
method  of  explanation,  but  modern  physiologists  would  not  probably 
admit  that  this  added  to  the  value  of  the  treatment.  For  example, 
understanding  pretty  well  the  nature  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood 
as  it  had  already  been  explained  by  Harvey,  and  believing  in  ani- 
mal spirits,  he  taught  that  those  emotions  which  caused  tears  to  flow 
were  the  ones  that  generated  certain  vapors  which  were  carried  by 
the  circulation  to  the  eyes  and  condensed  when  they  reached  the 
surface.  Hinc  illce  lacrymce !  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  Des- 
cartes' treatment  of  the  passions  is  disappointing,  as  have  also 
been  to  me  his  metaphysical  speculations.  But  he  did  admit  in 
a  number  of  passages  that  the  passions  are  not  essentially  bad  and 
that  they  are  often  useful,  and  says  (Art.  175)  that  he  cannot  per- 
suade himself  "that  nature  had  given  to  men  any  passion  that  is 
always  vicious  and  has  no  good  and  praiseworthy  purpose  "  ;  and  he 
concludes  (Art.  212)  "that  it  is  upon  the  passions  that  depend  all 
the  good  and  all  the  evil  of  this  life." 

Spinoza  also  treated  the  emotions  in  a  characteristically  philosophi- 
cal way,  and  it  is  his  special  merit  to  have  called  the  subject  ethics. 
Ethics,  as  I  have  shown  in  the  preceding  chapter  and  elsewhere,1 
is  based  entirely  upon  feeling,  and  without  the  phenomena  of 
pleasure  and  pain  there  can  be  no  moral  quality.  But  Spinoza's 
analyses  of  the  various  passions  were  much  more  acute  than  Des- 
cartes', and  he  still  more  clearly  recognized  their  utility,  their 
importance,  and  their  essential  innocence  when  legitimately  exer- 

1  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VI,  Philadelphia,  July,  1896,  pp.  441-156. 
Cf .  especially,  pp.  443-444. 


140  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

cised.  His  saying  (Prop.  XLI)  that  ajoy  is  not  essentially  bad, 
but  good,  while  grief  is  essentially  bad,'*'  reflects  both  the  asceticism 
of  his  time  and  his  own  philosophical  penetration. 

Hume  also  treated  the  passions  as  an  essential  part  of  "  human 
nature,"  making  much  of  sympathy,  as  was  done  by  Ferguson  and 
Adam  Smith,  and  later  by  Bentham,  each  from  his  own  special 
point  of  view.  But  it  was  reserved  for  Schopenhauer  to  show  that 
the  cravings  of  existence  constitute  the  mainspring  of  action  and 
the  real  power  of  the  world.  Comte's  spiritual  philosophy  as  set 
forth  in  his  "  Positive  Polity  "  is  based  on  the  affective  faculties  and 
has  altruism  for  its  end.  Other  names  might  be  mentioned  of  those 
who  have  contributed  to  give  to  the  cold,  objective,  intellectual  phi- 
losophy that  had  chiefly  prevailed  a  subjective  trend,1  and  to  direct 
attention  to  the  far  older  and  certainly  not  less  important  subjective 
and  conative  faculties  in  which  alone  the  psychic  and  social  energy 
resides. 

THE  SOUL 

What  is  the  soul  ?  I  do  not  mean  an  imaginary  thing.  I  mean 
a  real  thing.  Descartes,  as  we  have  seen,  used  the  French  word 
dme  almost  in  the  sense  of  the  whole  mind,  the  faculties  of  which 
he  confounded,  but  he  chiefly  dealt  with  those  animal  spirits  that,  as 
it  were,  animate  the  body.  They  produce  the  passions  and  the  emo- 
tions. Indeed,  he  makes  these  two  synonymous,  and  in  one  place 
(Art.  28)  expresses  a  preference  for  the  term  emotions,  because,  as 
he  says,  "  not  only  can  this  term  be  applied  to  all  the  changes  that 
take  place  in  it  [the  soul],  that  is,  to  all  the  various  impressions 
(pense'es)  that  come  to  it,  but  especially  because,  of  all  the  affections 
(pens&es)  that  it  can  have  there  are  no  others  that  so  strongly  agi- 
tate and  move  (tbranlenf)  it  as  do  these  passions."  It  is  therefore 
evident  that  he  recognized  in  the  passions  a  moving  force,  but  his 
soul  was  something  more  comprehensive.  Our  own  English  word 
soul  is  so  far  given  over  to  religious  usage,  under  the  influence  of 
the  doctrine  of  immortality,  that  it  is  difficult  to  separate  it  from 
that  world  view  arid  look  upon  it  as  a  real  scientific  fact.  The  Ger- 
man word  Seele  seems  not  to  be  so  trammeled,  and  expresses  the 
phenomenon  of  animation  or  conscious  spontaneous  activity.  This 

1 1  treated  this  subject  somewhat  fully  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Institut  Interna- 
tional de  Sociologie  in  1897.  See  the  Annales,  Vol.  IV,  pp.  111-132. 


CH.  vm]  THE   SOUL  141 

is  the  central  idea  in  the  conception  of  the  soul,  and  it  was  possessed 
by  the  first  and  lowest  animate  beings.  The  moment  an  interest  to 
move  in  a  definite  way  for  a  definite  purpose  was  planted  in  them 
the  soul  was  born,  and  their  continued  conscious  activities  under  the 
spur  of  that  interest  is  that  which  has  produced  the  varied  forms  of 
animal  life. 

The  soul  then  is  that  new-born  property  that  has  been  engaging 
our  attention  through  the  last  two  chapters.  We  have  been  study- 
ing its  cosmic  and  geological  development.  It  was  not  present  when 
the  planets  were  formed.  It  does  not  dwell  in  rocks.  The  signs  of 
it  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  (protoplasmic  movements  in  the  utricle, 
sensitive  plants,  the  behavior  of  the  "  tentacles  "  of  Drosera,  the  clos- 
ing of  the  fly-traps  of  Dionaea,  circumnutation,  etc.)  are  few,  obscure, 
and  of  an  ambiguous  character,  either  referable  to  physical  reactions, 
or  else  belonging  to  forms  that  closely  approach  the  nature  of  ani- 
mals, such  as  the  insectivorous  plants.  Plants  live  but  do  not  feel. 
We  are  carried  back  to  the  famous  definition  of  Linnaeus :  Lapides 
crescunt;  vegetabilia  crescunt  et  vivunt;  animalia  crescunt,  vivunt,  et 
sentiunt.  I  scarcely  need  point  out  the  agreement  that  exists  be- 
tween this  and  my  table  of  evolutionary  products  and  differential 
attributes  (supra,  p.  94).  The  last  of  the  Linnaean  attributes,  feel- 
ing, ushered  in  the  soul. 

The  soul  is  well  described  in  Genesis  as  "  the  Spirit  of  God  "  that 
"moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters,"  for,  as  we  have  seen,  the  sea 
must  have  been  the  cradle  of  life  in  which  consciousness  first 
dawned.  From  the  standpoint  of  hylozoism  this  spirit  may  be  said 
to  "  sleep  in  the  stone,  dream  in  the  animal,  and  awake  in  man,"  for 
its  elements  lay  dormant  in  the  inorganic  world,  and  it  was  only  in 
man,  and  in  a  higher  type  of  man,  that  self-consciousness  arose,  viz., 
a  consciousness  of  consciousness.  But  as  more  and  more  inorganic 
matter  was  converted  into  living  forms  larger  and  larger  quantities 
of  physical  and  vital  energy  were  converted  into  psychic  energy,  and 
the  soul  grew  and  acquired  greater  power.  It  became  a  transform- 
ing agency  and  a  potent  influence  in  the  transmutation  of  species 
and  the  development  of  higher  and  more  multiform  types  of  life. 
It  was  the  chief  cause  of  variation  and  hence  the  prime  factor  in 
organic  evolution.  On  the  human  plane  the  soul  has  become  en- 
riched by  the  introduction  of  all  the  derivative  affections,  the  pas- 
sions and  emotions  of  which  we  have  spoken,  until  it  has  carried 


142  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

its  transforming  influence  beyond  the  individual  organism  into  the 
social  organism  and  into  the  environment,  and  has  become  the  agent 
of  social  evolution. 

THE  WILL 

When  we  consider  all  this  volume  of  feeling  as  essentially  a  striv- 
ing we  find  in  it  all  the  elements  of  the  will.  It  is  the  conative 
faculty,  and  in  this  lies  its  immense  importance  to  sociology.  Feel- 
ing, as  we  have  seen,  starts  with  interest  and  immediately  becomes 
desire.  Using  desire  in  its  widest  possible  acceptation,  there  is  a 
sense  in  which  it  may  be  identified  with  will.  It  is  the  wish,  the 
vow,  the  prayer,  the  yearning  of  the  soul.  To  clothe  this  with  all 
the  attributes  of  will  we  have  only  to  observe  it  passing  into  action. 
Will  is  the  active  expression  of  the  soul's  meaning.  It  is  inchoate 
action.  If  it  does  not  pass  into  action  it  at  least  passes  into  effort, 
and  it  is  effort  rather  than  action  in  which  the  dynamic  quality 
inheres.  The  will  is  that  which  asserts  itself.  The  interests  of  life 
must  be  subserved,  the  desires  must  be  satisfied,  remembered  past 
pleasures  must  be  renewed,  pains  experienced  or  feared  must  be 
escaped,  life  must  be  preserved  and  continued,  hopes,  aspirations, 
ambitions,  goals  must  be  realized.  It  is  will  that  accomplishes  all 
this.  Without  it  all  is  lost.  This  is  the  meaning  of  optimism  as  a 
principle  of  nature  rather  than  a  world  view  or  tenet  of  philosophy. 
There  is  no  balancing  of  the  gains  and  losses  of  existence.  There  is 
no  faltering  or  hesitation.  Existence  must  be  preserved  and  nature 
has  pointed  the  way.  The  will  gives  the  command  and  the  body 
obeys.  The  effort  is  put  forth  and  the  result  is  limited  only  by  the 
amount  of  physical  power  and  the  amount  of  resistance  encoun- 
tered. Optimism  is  the  normal  attitude  of  all  sentient  beings.  No 
other  attitude  is  possible  in  the  animal  world  or  in  any  type  of  man- 
kind that  has  not  reached  a  high  degree  of  intellectual  development. 
Only  such  a  developed  intellect  when  deprived  of  an  adequate  knowl- 
edge of  nature  is  capable  of  inventing  a  quietistic  philosophy.  The 
doctrine  of  the  denial  of  the  will,  if  it  could  be  rigidly  enforced, 
would  quickly  terminate  the  course  of  any  race  that  should  practice 
it.  Only  the  partial  failure  to  enforce  such  teachings,  or  their  prac- 
tical reversal  and  conversion  into  optimistic  teachings  among  the 
uninstructed,  can  have  saved  the  Orient  from  destruction,  and 
the  ease  with  which  European  nations  can  seize,  hold,  and  govern 


CH.  vin]  THE   WILL  143 

India,  Cochin  China,  and  parts  of  China,  attests  the  superior  social 
efficiency  of  optimistic  over  pessimistic  races.  And  there  is  no  bet- 
ter lesson  to  teach  the  superiority  of  will  over  reason  —  of  that 
ancient  primordial  cosmic  power  over  the  newly  fledged  parvenu 
intellect  —  than  these  odds  furnish  when  the  two  are  brought  into 
conflict. 

Natural,  spontaneous,  or  impulsive  optimism  is  true,  and  is  a 
healthy  social  influence.  It  means  self-preservation,  race  continu- 
ance, and  social  progress.  But  rational  optimism  is  both  false  and 
shallow.  The  moment  the  light  of  reason  is  turned  upon  it  it 
withers  and  decays.  This  is  because  the  condition  of  mankind  from 
the  moral  point  of  view,  i.e.,  from  the  standpoint  of  feeling,  will  not 
bear  analysis.  Reason  applied  to  it,  if  at  all  thoroughgoing,  leads 
at  once  to  pessimism.  It  teaches  that  desire  is  want,  that  hunger  is 
pang,  that  love  is  pain,  that  pains  are  acute  and  prolonged  while 
pleasures  are  brief  and  moderate,  that  the  satisfaction  of  desire  puts 
an  end  to  feeling,  but  that  no  sooner  is  one  desire  disposed  of  than 
another  arises,  and  so  on  forever.  This  is  the  philosophy  that  per- 
vades the  vast  populous  regions  of  southern  and  eastern  Asia,  and 
which  has  for  its  universal  refrain  the  injunction :  crush  the  will. 
This  is  logical  and  has  been  echoed  by  the  wisest  seers  of  optimistic 
Europe  —  Goethe,  Humboldt,  Pascal,  Dean  Swift,  Jeremy  Taylor, 
Huxley  *  —  who  have  simply  looked  at  the  world  and  seen  things  as 
they  are. 

A  little  reason  corrupts  and  neutralizes  the  optimistic  impulses 
and  produces  that  false  and  mongrel  optimism  that  teaches  the  fold- 
ing of  the  arms  and  the  gospel  of  inaction.  More  reason  penetrates 
to  the  dark  reality  and  ends  in  pessimism  or  the  gospel  of  despair 
and  nirvana.  But  it  is  possible  to  probe  still  deeper  and  to  find 
again  the  hope  that  characterizes  the  first  blind  subrational  or  ultra- 

1  "  Even  the  best  of  modern  civilization  appears  to  me  to  exhibit  a  condition  of 
mankind  which  neither  embodies  any  worthy  ideal  nor  even  possesses  the  merit  of 
stability.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  express  the  opinion  that,  if  there  is  no  hope  of  a  large 
improvement  of  the  condition  of  the  greater  part  of  the  human  family  ;  if  it  is  true 
that  the  increase  of  knowledge,  the  winning  of  a  greater  dominion  over  Nature  which 
is  its  consequence,  and  the  wealth  which  follows  upon  that  dominion,  are  to  make  no 
difference  in  the  extent  and  the  intensity  of  Want,  with  its  concomitant  physical  and 
moral  degradation,  among  the  masses  of  the  people,  I  should  hail  the  advent  of  some 
kindly  comet,  which  would  sweep  the  whole  affair  away,  as  a  desirable  consum- 
mation." Professor  Huxley  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  Vol.  XXVII,  January-June, 
1890,  No.  159,  May,  1890,  pp.  862-863  (in  article  entitled  :  "  Government :  Anarchy  or 
Regimentation,"  ibid.,  pp.  843-866). 


144  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

rational  struggle  for  existence.  Rational  optimism  and  pessimism  are 
products  of  the  naked  reason,  than  which  no  guide  is  more  unsafe. 
The  true  guide,  the  Moses  that  is  to  lead  man  out  of  the  wilderness, 
is  science.  The  naked  reason  must  be  clothed.  Man  must  learn  to 
know.  He  must  learn  how  and  why  he  is  subjected  to  all  these 
woes,  and  then  he  may  see  a  way  of  escaping  them.  The  only  sci- 
ence that  can  teach  this  is  social  science.  This  science  does  teach 
it,  and  it  gives  forth  no  uncertain  sound.  All  this  belongs  to  applied 
sociology  and  cannot  be  treated  here,  but  it  may  at  least  be  remarked 
that  the  mental  and  social  state  to  which  social  science  points  is 
neither  optimism  nor  pessimism,  but  meliorism.  Meliorism  means 
the  liberation  of  the  will,  so  that  it  may  assert  itself  as  freely  and 
as  vigorously  as  it  ever  did  under  the  rule  of  blind  impulse.  It 
means  the  massing  and  systematic  application  of  all  the  vastly 
increased  powers  of  developed  man  to  the  perfected  machinery  of 
society.  The  avenues  of  action  to  be  cleared  and  not  choked  up  as 
at  present.  Different  social  movements  to  be  along  appointed  paths 
and  not  in  opposite  directions  in  the  same  path  so  as  to  neutralize 
each  other.  The  combined  social  will  may  thus  be  so  adjusted  as  to 
exert  its  full  force  in  one  harmonious  and  irresistible  effort  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  the  supreme  social  end. 


CHAPTER   IX 
SOCIAL  MECHANICS 

IN  the  last  three  chapters  the  foundations  have  been  laid  for  a 
science  of  social  mechanics.  The  essential  condition  of  such  a 
science  is  the  existence  of  true  natural  forces  in  society  that  can 
be  depended  upon  to  produce  effects  with  the  same  certainty  and 
exactness  as  do  physical  forces.  The  dynamic  agent,  the  general 
character  of  which  was  set  forth  in  Chapter  VI,  and  the  genesis  and 
full  treatment  of  which  have  been  given  in  the  last  two  chapters, 
furnishes  the  sociologist  with  all  that  he  requires  from  this  point 
of  view.  It  is  true  that  the  complex  phenomena  of  society  neces- 
sitate the  application  of  the  limiting  principle  laid  down  in  Chap- 
ter IV,  that  the  quality  of  exactness  is  difficult  to  detect  except 
in  the  relations  that  subsist  among  the  more  highly  generalized 
groups. 

MATHEMATICAL  SOCIOLOGY 

The  application  of  mathematics  to  sociology  is  at  best  precarious, 
not  because  the  laws  of  social  phenomena  are  not  exact,  but 
because  of  the  multitude  and  complicated  interrelations  of  the 
facts.  Except  for  certain  minds  that  are  mathematically  consti- 
tuted there  is  very  little  advantage  in  mathematical  treatment. 
It  instantly  repels  the  non-mathematical,  and  however  much  we 
may  deplore  it,  the  proportion  of  mathematical  minds  is  very 
small.  Usually  a  rigidly  logical  treatment  of  a  subject  is  quite 
sufficient  even  where  mathematics  might  have  been  used,  and  when 
the  latter  adds  nothing  to  the  conception  its  use  is  simply  pedantic. 
A  number  of  eminent  mathematicians,  among  whom  the  names  of 
Cournot,  Gossen,  Jevons,  and  Walras  are  the  most  frequently 
heard,  have  undoubtedly  done  much  to  found  pure  economics  on 
a  mathematical  basis.  At  the  present  time,  while  there  are  many 
mathematical  economists,  there  seems  to  be  but  one  mathematical 
sociologist,  viz.,  Dr.  Leon  Winiarsky  of  the  University  of  Geneva. 
In  qiiite  a  formidable  series  of  papers  he  has  endeavored  to  lay  the 
L  145 


146  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

foundations  of  the  science  of  social  mechanics  as  a  mathematical 
science.1  His  claim  to  being  the  first  to  do  this  seems  to  be  just, 
but  his  further  claim  of  priority  in  conceiving  such  a  science 
cannot  be  sustained.2  The  special  merit  of  Dr.  Winiarsky's  treat- 
ment is  that  it  bases  the  science  on  the  desires  and  wants  of  men 
as  the  forces  with  which  it  deals,  and  although  he  scarcely  goes 
beyond  the  primary  impulses  of  hunger  and  love,  still  these  are 
correctly  conceived  as  true  natural  forces  susceptible  of  the  most 
exact  formulation.  Moreover,  his  papers  are  not  overburdened  with 
equations  and  formulas,  and  are  decidedly  readable  discussions, 
abounding  in  acute  observations.  They  also  contain  reasonable 
admissions  of  the  limitations  to  mathematical  treatment. 

Comte,  although  himself  a  professional  mathematician,  never  tired 
of  condemning  the  attempt  to  reduce  the  complex  sciences  to  the 
mathematical  form.  We  find  in  one  of  his  early  papers,  published 
in  1822,  this  remark  :  — 

The  proposition  to  treat  social  science  as  an  application  of  mathematics 
in  order  to  render  it  positive  had  its  origin  in  the  metaphysical  prejudice 
that  outside  of  mathematics  no  real  certainty  can  exist.  This  prejudice 
was  natural  at  a  time  when  everything  that  was  positive  belonged  to  the 
domain  of  applied  mathematics,  and  when,  in  consequence,  all  that  this  did 
not  embrace  was  vague  and  conjectural.  But  since  the  formation  of  the  two 
great  positive  sciences,  chemistry  and  especially  physiology,  in  which  mathe- 
matical analysis  plays  no  rdle,  and  which  are  recognized  as  not  less  certain 
than  the  others,  such  a  prejudice  would  be  absolutely  inexcusable.8 

Early  in  his  "  Positive  Philosophy,"  and  in  the  volume  devoted  to 
mathematics,  he  further  says :  — 

Nevertheless  we  should  not  cease,  as  a  general  philosophical  thesis,  to  con- 
ceive phenomena  of  all  orders  as  necessarily  subject  in  themselves  to  mathe- 
matical laws,  which  we  are  simply  condemned  always  to  ignore  in  most 
cases  on  account  of  the  too  great  complication  of  the  phenomena.4 

i  Revue  Philosophique,  Vol.  XLV,  April,  1898,  pp.  351-386  ;  Vol.  XLIX,  February, 
1900,  pp.  113-134;  March,  1900,  pp.  256-287  ;  Rivista  Italiana  di  Sociologia,  Anno  III, 
Fasc.  v,  Rome,  September,  1899  ;  Premier  Congres  de  I'Enseignement  des  Sciences 
Sociales,  Compte  rendu,  Paris,  1901,  pp.  341-345;  Annales  de  VInstitut  International 
de  Sociologie,  Vol.  VII,  Paris,  1901,  pp.  229-233. 

2 1  may  have  been  the  first  to  use  the  expression  "social  mechanics."  See 
"  Dynamic  Sociology,"  New  York,  1883,  Vol.  I,  p.  503  ;  cf.  Am.  Journ.  of  Sociology, 
Vol.  II,  September,  1896,  pp.  234-254,  and"  Outlines  of  Sociology,"  New  York,  1898, 
Chapter  VIII. 

8  "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  Appendix,  p.  123. 

*  "  Philosophic  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  p.  117. 


CH.  ix]  SOCIAL   PHYSICS  147 

In  his  treatment  of  chemistry  and  biology  in  Vol.  Ill,  he  encounters 
the  prejudice  of  which  he  speaks  and  characterizes  it  very  severely. 
The  following  will  serve  as  a  sample  of  his  views  in  this  regard :  — 

This  confusion,  difficult  to  avoid,  between  acquired  instruction  and  native 
ability  is  still  more  common,  in  the  case  of  mathematical  studies  on  account 
of  the  more  special  and  prolonged  application  which  they  require  and  the 
characteristic  hieroglyphic  language  which  they  must  employ,  the  imposing 
aspect  of  which  is  so  well  calculated  to  mask,  to  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  a 
profound  intellectual  mediocrity.1  . 

It  was  Goethe  who  said :  — 

I  accept  mathematics  as  the  most  sublime  and  useful  science  so  long  as 
it  is  applied  in  its  proper  place  ;  but  I  cannot  commend  its  misuse  in 
matters  which  do  not  belong  to  its  sphere,  and  in  which,  noble  science  as 
it  is,  it  seems  to  be  mere  nonsense ;  as  if,  forsooth,  things  only  exist  when 
they  can  be  mathematically  demonstrated !  It  would  be  foolish  in  a  man 
not  to  believe  in  his  sweetheart's  love  because  she  could  not  prove  it  to 
him  mathematically.  She  can  mathematically  prove  her  dower,  but  not  her 
love. 

And  a  more  modern  writer  has  well  said  :  "  No  forms  of  error  are 
so  erroneous  as  those  that  have  the  appearance  without  the  reality 
of  mathematical  precision." 2 

SOCIAL  PHYSICS 

I  have  preferred  the  name  social  mechanics  for  this  science  to  that 
of  social  physics,  which  Comte  first  gave  to  the  whole  science  of  soci- 
ology, because  it  is  the  social  forces  with  which  we  have  to  do  rather 
than  material  bodies  with  which  physics  seems  more  naturally  asso- 
ciated, but  it  is  well  for  us  to  inquire  what  Comte  meant  by  social 
physics.  It  was  in  the  same  early  paper  from  which  we  have 
quoted,  first  published  in  May,  1822,  that  he  first  used  this  expres- 
sion. Continuing  his  remark  relative  to  the  use  of  mathematics,  he 
says : — 

It  is  not  as  applications  of  mathematical  analysis  that  astronomy,  optics, 
etc.,  are  positive  and  exact  sciences.  This  character  comes  from  themselves. 
It  results  from  the  fact  that  they  are  founded  on  observed  facts,  and  it  could 
only  result  from  this,  because  mathematical  analysis  separated  from  the 
observation  of  nature,  has  only  a  metaphysical  character.  Only  it  is  certain 

1  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  307. 

2  Dr.  George  M.  Beard  in  the  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XIV,  April,  1879, 
p.  751. 


148  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

that  in  the  sciences  to  which  mathematics  are  not  applicable  close  direct 
observation  is  the  less  to  be  lost  sight  of ;  deductions  cannot  with  certainty 
be  carried  so  far,  because  the  data  for  reasoning  are  less  perfect.  With  this 
exception  the  certainty  is  just  as  complete  if  kept  within  proper  limits.  .  .  . 
Such  is  the  final  judgment  which  I  believe  it  is  possible  to  form  from 
attempts  made  or  to  be  made  to  apply  mathematical  analysis  to  social 
physics. 

After  discussing  Cabanis's  "  Rapport  du  physique  et  du  moral 
de  I'horame,"  he  continues :  — 

Since  the  superiority  of  man  over  the  other  animals  cannot  have,  and,  in 
fact,  has  no  other  cause  than  the  relative  perfection  of  his  organization,  all 
that  the  human  species  does,  and  all  that  it  can  do,  must  evidently  be  re- 
garded, in  the  last  analysis,  as  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  organization, 
modified  in  its  effects  by  the  environment  (ttat  de  Vexterieur).  In  this  sense, 
social  physics,  that  is,  the  study  of  the  collective  development  of  the  human 
species,  is  really  a  branch  of  physiology,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  study  of  man 
in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  word.  In  other  terms,  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion is  nothing  else  than  the  succession  and  necessary  completion  of  the 
natural  history  of  man.1 

A  little  farther  on  in  the  same  essay,  while  laying  the  foundations 
of  the  positive  philosophy  in  his  well-known  classification  of  the 
sciences,  but  before  it  had  taken  its  final  form,  he  says :  — 

The  four  great  classes  of  observations  previously  established  do  not 
comprise,  at  least  explicitly,  all  the  points  of  view  from  which  existing  be- 
ings may  be  considered.  There  is  evidently  lacking  the  social  point  of  view 
for  the  beings  that  are  susceptible  of  it,  and  especially  for  man;  but  we  see 
with  the  same  clearness  that  this  is  the  only  omission  (lacune).  Thus,  we 
possess  now  a  celestial  physics,  a  terrestrial  physics,  either  mechanical  or 
chemical,  a  vegetal  physics,  and  an  animal  physics ;  we  still  want  one  more 
and  last  one,  social  physics,  in  order  that  the  system  of  our  knowledge  of 
nature  be  complete.2 

Still  more  definite  and  clear  is  the  following  statement  that  fol- 
lows on  the  same  page  with  which  the  passage  last  quoted  closed :  — 

I  understand  by  social  physics  the  science  that  has  for  its  proper  object 
the  study  of  social  phenomena,  considered  in  the  same  spirit  as  astronomical, 
physical,  chemical,  and  physiological  phenomena,  i.e.,  as  subject  to  natural 
invariable  laws,  the  discovery  of  which  is  the  special  object  of  its  investiga- 
tions. Thus  it  proposes  directly  to  explain,  with  the  greatest  possible  pre- 
cision, the  great  phenomenon  of  the  development  of  the  human  species, 

l "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  Appendix,  pp.  123-125. 
2ioc.  Git.,  pp.  149-150. 


CH.  ix]  SOCIAL  PHYSICS  149 

considered  in  all  its  essential  parts;  that  is,  to  discover  through  what  fixed 
series  of  successive  transformations  the  human  race,  starting  from  a  state 
scarcely  superior  to  that  of  the  societies  of  large  apes,  gradually  led  to  the 
point  at  which  civilized  Europe  finds  itself  to-day. 

At  the  close  of  the  third  volume  of  the  "Positive  Philosophy" 
he  says  that  the  next  or  fourth  volume  will  be  devoted  to  creating 
the  new  science  of  social  physics,  and  early  in  that  (fourth)  volume 
he  speaks  of  instituting  what  he  had  already  called  social  physics. 
To  the  term  thus  introduced,  and  which  is  here  italicized,  he  appends 
the  following  foot-note :  — 

This  expression,  and  that  not  less  indispensable  one  of  positive  philosophy, 
were  constructed  seventeen  years  ago  [this  volume  appeared  in  1839],  in  my 
early  essays  on  political  philosophy.  Although  so  recent,  these  two  essen- 
tial terms  have  already  been  in  some  sort  spoiled  by  vicious  attempts  to 
appropriate  them  on  the  part  of  various  writers  who  had  not  at  all  compre- 
hended their  true  purpose,  although  I  had,  by  a  scrupulously  invariable 
practice,  carefully  characterized  their  fundamental  acceptation.  I  ought 
specially  to  point  out  this  abuse,  in  the  case  of  the  first  of  these  terms,  by  a 
Belgian  savant,  who  has  adopted  it  in  these  late  years  as  the  title  of  a  book 
which  treats  of  nothing  but  simple  statistics.1 

The  reference  is  of  course  to  Quetelet' s  work  entitled :  "  Sur 
1'homme  et  le  developpement  de  ses  facultes,  ou  essai  de  physique 
sociale,"  in  two  volumes,  which  appeared  in  1835.  Quetelet  also 
laid  stress  on  the  uniformity  and  regularity  of  social  phenomena, 
but,  as  Comte  says,  from  the  standpoint  of  statistics.  But  there  is 
no  more  reliable  method  of  proving  this  than  the  use  of  statistics, 
and  no  one  has  done  more  along  this  fruitful  line  than  Quetelet. 
Still  it  must  be  admitted  that  Comte's  conception  of  social  physics 
was  vastly  broader  than  this,  and  as  the  above  passages,  and  others 
that  might  be  cited,  show,  was  coextensive  with  sociology.  Indeed, 
since  it  was  he  who  gave  us  the  word  sociology  and  made  it  synony- 
mous with  social  physics  as  he  had  denned  that  term,  we  must  at 
least  agree  that  his  social  physics  is  the  same  as  his  sociology.  This 
word,  as  all  sociologists  know,  was  first  used  by  him  in  the  volume 
from  which  the  passages  last  quoted  occur,  but  considerably  farther 
along,  viz.,  in  the  forty-seventh  lecture  on  p.  185.  As  in  the  case 
of  social  physics,  he  appended  a  foot-note  to  the  italicized  word,  and 
in  this  he  says  :  — 

1 "  Philosophic  Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  p.  15. 


150  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

I  think  I  should  venture,  from  now  on,  to  use  this  new  term,  exactly 
equivalent  to  my  expression,  already  introduced,  of  social  physics,  in  order  to 
designate  by  a  single  word  that  complementary  part  of  natural  philosophy 
which  relates  to  the  positive  study  of  the  sum  total  of  the  fundamental  laws 
governing  social  phenomena. 

We  see  then  that  social  physics  in  the  Comtian  sense  is  the  sociol- 
ogy that  he  founded,  and  although,  notwithstanding  his  pains  to 
make  it  clear,  it  possesses  a  certain  vagueness  due  to  its  comprehen- 
sive character,  still  this  combined  quality  of  breadth  and  vagueness 
lend  to  it  sufficient  elasticity  to  adapt  it  to  all  the  unforeseen  ele- 
ments of  expansion  that  have  arisen  or  are  likely  to  arise,'  and  thus 
make  the  word  sociology  an  altogether  satisfactory  name  for  the 
whole  science.  In  view  of  this  the  term  social  physics  has  by  com- 
mon consent  been  dropped  out  of  view.  If  revived  it  should  be  with 
its  original  scope,  and  this,  of  course,  is  not  what  I  mean  by  social 
mechanics.  That  is  not  sociology  as  a  whole,  but  is  a  subscience  of 
the  science  of  sociology.  It  is  that  branch  of  sociology  which  deals 
with  the  action  of  the  social  forces.  It  relates  to  the  dynamic  agent 
only,  not  to  the  directive  agent,  and  belongs  moreover  exclusively 
to  pure  sociology. 

PSYCHICS 

As  the  social  forces  are  psychic  social  mechanics  has-  to  do  with 
psychic  forces,  and  just  as  the  science  which  treats  of  the  physical 
forces,  of  whose  positivity  mechanics  is  the  mathematical  test,  is 
called  physics,  so  the  science  which  treats  of  the  psychic  forces, 
of  whose  exactness  social  mechanics  is  the  criterion,  must  be  psychic 
physics,  which  may  for  the  sake  of  brevity  be  called  psychics.  Psy- 
chics, therefore,  is  the  science  or  subscience  that  deals  with  the  exact 
and  invariable  laws  of  mind.  The  word  has  found  its  way  into  the 
dictionaries,  but  is  badly  defined.  Most  of  them  make  it  a  synonym, 
of  psychology,  which  it  differs  from  almost  as  widely  as  physics 
differs  from  physiology.  Others  give  it  a  secondary  meaning  as  a 
synonym  of  "  psychical  research."  It  is  well  known  that  the  expres- 
sion "  psychical  research "  has  become  equivalent  to  the  quasi- 
scientific  attempt  to  prove  the  existence  of  a  soul  independent  of  the 
body,  and  is  simply  a  prop  to  spiritualism  and  occultism.  This 
attempt 'to  prostitute  the  term  psychics  may  prove  fatal  to  it,  as  it 
did  to  that  other  etymologically  excellent  word  phrenology.  There 


CH.  ix]  PSYCHICS  151 

have,  however,  been  some  attempts  to  rescue  psychics  from  this  fate. 
In  1881  Mr.  F.  Y.  Edgeworth  published  a  work  entitled :  "  Mathe- 
matical Psychics,  an  Essay  on  the  Application  of  Mathematics  to 
the  Moral  Sciences,"  London,  1881.  He  explains  the  subject  of  the 
work  to  be  "  the  applicability  and  the  application  of  mathematics  to 
sociology"  (p.  1).  "Where  there  are  data,"  he  says  (p.  2),  "which, 
though  not  numerical,  are  quantitative  —  for  example,  that  a  quantity  is 
greater  or  less  than  another,  increases  or  decreases,  is  positive  or  nega- 
tive, a  maximum  or  a  minimum,  there  mathematical  reasoning  is 
possible  and  may  be  indispensable."  There  may  have  been  other 
uses  of  the  word  in  a  scientific  sense  prior  to  the  year  1893,  when  I 
introduced  it1  in  the  same  sense  as  that  in  which  I  use  it  now,  but 
I  have  not  met  with  them.  This  sense  is  somewhat  broader  than 
that  of  Edgeworth,  and  includes  data  to  which  mathematics  would 
not  apply. 

The  essential  basis  of  psychics  is,  of  course,  that  psychic  phe- 
nomena obey  uniform  laws.  This  has  been  observed  and  remarked 
by  many  writers,  some  very  ancient,  and,  as  we  saw  in  Chapter  IV, 
the  recognition  of  this  truth  in  a  collective  way,  as  in  human  history, 
is  the  prime  condition  to  any  science  of  society.  But  as  collective 
action  is  made  up  of  individual  action,  it  must  also  be  true  of  the 
latter,  however  contrary  it  may  seem  to  daily  observation.  Our 
failure  to  perceive  it  is  due  to  what  was  there  called  "  the  illusion  of 
the  near."  Herbart  is  said  to  have  declared  that  "  ideas  move  in  our 
minds  with  as  much  regularity  as  the  stars  move  in  the  heavens."  2 
Kant  said  that  "  if  we  could  probe  all  the  phenomena  of  volition  to 
the  bottom  there  would  not  be  a  single  human  action  which  we  could 
not  predict  and  recognize  as  necessary  from  its  antecedent  condi- 
tions." 3  Kant  is  usually  regarded  as  a  libertarian,  and  yet  in  the 
only  contribution  he  made  to  sociology  he  says :  — 

Whatsoever  difference  there  may  be  in  our  notions  of  the  freedom  of  the 
will  metaphysically  considered,  —  it  is  evident  that  the  manifestations  of 
this  will,  viz.  human  actions,  are  as  much  under  the  control  of  universal 
laws  of  nature  as  any  other  physical  phenomena.  It  is  the  province  of  his- 
tory to  narrate  these  manifestations ;  and  let  their  causes  be  ever  so  secret, 
we  know  that  history,  simply  by  taking  its  station  at  a  distance  and  contem- 
plating the  agency  of  the  human  will  upon  a  large  scale,  aims  at  unfolding 

1  "  Psychic  Factors  of  Civilization,"  pp.  56,  129. 

2  Professor  W.  I.  Thomas  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  I,  p.  441. 
8  "Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft,"  ed.  Hartenstein,  1868,  p.  380. 


152  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

to  our  view  a  regular  stream  of  tendency  in  the  great  succession  of  events ; 
so  that  the  very  course  of  incidents,  which  taken  separately  and  individually 
would  have  seemed  perplexed,  incoherent,  and  lawless,  yet  viewed  in  their 
connexion  and  as  the  actions  of  the  human  species  and  not  of  independent 
beings,  never  fail  to  discover  a  steady  and  continuous  though  slow  develop- 
ment of  certain  great  predispositions  in  our  nature.  Thus  for  instance 
deaths,  births,  and  marriages,  considering  how  much  they  are  separately 
dependent  on  the  freedom  of  the  human  will,  should  seem  to  be  subject  to 
no  law  according  to  which  any  calculation  could  be  made  beforehand  of 
their  amount :  and  yet  the  yearly  registers  of  these  events  in  great  countries 
prove  that  they  go  on  with  as  much  conformity  to  the  laws  of  nature  as  the 
oscillations  of  the  weather.1 

Mr.  John  Watson  of  Queen's  University,  a  close  student  of  Kant, 
and  himself  a  thorough-going  libertarian,  sums  up  that  part  of  his 
doctrine  as  follows  :  — 

Take  any  action  you  please,  and  you  will  find,  according  to  Kant,  that  its 
place  in  the  chain  of  events  is  as  unalterably  determined  as  the  fall  of  a 
•stone,  or  the  motion  of  a  projectile  through  space.  Let  the  action  be,  say, 
the  relieving  of  distress.  Setting  aside  the  physical  movements  which  pre- 
cede the  consciousness  that  a  certain  person  stands  in  need  of  relief,  and  the 
physical  movements  by  which  the  action  is  carried  into  effect,  there  remains 
for  consideration  simply  a  series  of  mental  events,  which  will  be  found  to 
be  connected  together  in  a  fixed  order  of  dependence.  Following  upon  the 
perception  of  the  object,  there  arises  in  the  consciousness  of  the  agent  a 
desire  to  relieve  distress.  This  desire  would  not  arise  at  all,  did  not  the 
agent  possess  a  peculiar  form  of  susceptibility  ;  viz.,  that  of  pity  at  the  sight 
of  human  suffering.  Now,  this  susceptibility  is  a  part  of  his  sensuous  nature, 
which  he  can  neither  make  nor  unmake.  Not  every  one  is  so  affected,  or 
affected  in  the  same  degree.  Clearly,  therefore,  the  desire  to  relieve  distress 
is  an  event,  occurring  at  a  certain  moment,  and  following  upon  the  idea  of 
another's  pain  as  certainly  as  any  other  event  that  can  be  named.  If  the  de- 
sire is  so  strong  that  the  agent  determines  to  relieve  the  other's  distress,  we 
have  a  further  sequence  of  a  certain  volition  upon  a  certain  desire ;  and  this, 
like  all-  other  sequences,  is  subject  to  the  law  of  causality.  The  most  rigid 
determinist  has  evidently  no  reason  so  far  to  complain  of  any  want  of  "  vigor 
and  rigor  "  in  Kant's  doctrine.2 

Archbishop  Whately  states  practically  the  same  case  in  the 
following  form :  — 

Every  one  is  accustomed  to  anticipate  future  events,  in  human  affairs,  as 
well  as  in  the  material  world,  in  proportion  to  his  knowledge  of  the  several  cir- 

1  "  Idea  of  a  Universal  History  on  a  Cosmo-political  Plan,"  by  Immanuel  Kant. 
Translated  by  Thomas  De  Quincey.    London  Magazine,  Vol.  X,  October,  1824,  p.  385. 

2  Philosophical  Review,  Vol.  I,  January,  1892,  p.  11. 


en.  ix]  PSYCHICS  153 

cumstances  connected  with  each ;  however  different  in  amount  that  knowl- 
edge may  be,  in  reference  to  different  occurrences.  And  in  both  cases  alike, 
we  always  attribute  the  failure  of  any  anticipation  to  our  ignorance  or  mis- 
take respecting  some  of  the  circumstances.  When,  e.g.,  we  fully  expect, 
from  our  supposed  knowledge  of  some  person's  character,  and  of  the  circum- 
stances he  is  placed  in,  that  he  will  do  something  which,  eventually,  he  does 
not  do,  we  at  once  and  without  hesitation  conclude  that  we  were  mistaken 
either  as  to  his  character,  or  as  to  his  situation,  or  as  to  our  acquaintance 
with  human  nature,  generally ;  and  we  are  accustomed  to  adduce  any  such 
failure  as  a  proof  of  such  mistake  ;  saying,  "  It  is  plain  you  were  mistaken  in 
your  estimate  of  that  man's  character ;  for  he  has  done  so  and  so :  "  and  this, 
as  unhesitatingly  as  we  should  attribute  the  non-occurrence  of  an  eclipse  we 
had  predicted,  not  to  any  change  in  the  Laws  of  Nature,  but  to  some  error 
in  our  calculations.1 

This  is  virtually  Kant's  position,  and  is  a  clear  analysis  of  the 
meaning  of  his  phrase  "  intelligible  character."  John  Stuart  Mill 
reechoed  it  when  he  said :  "  Given  the  motives  which  are  present  to 
an  individual's  mind,  and  given  likewise  the  character  and  disposi- 
tion of  the  individual,  the  manner  in  which  he  will  act  might  unerr- 
ingly be  inferred."  2  But  much  earlier  still  than  Kant,  Hartley  had 
made  the  following  statement :  — 

By  the  mechanism  of  human  actions  I  mean,  that  each  action  results 
from  the  previous  circumstances  of  body  and  mind,  in  the  same  manner, 
and  with  the  same  certainty,  as  other  effects  do  from  their  mechanical 
causes ;  so  that  a  person  cannot  do  indifferently  either  of  the  actions  A,  and 
its  contrary  a,  while  the  previous  circumstances  are  the  same  ;  but  is  under 
an  absolute  necessity  of  doing  one  of  them,  and  that  only.  Agreeably  to 
this  I  suppose,  that  by  free-will  is  meant  a  power  of  doing  either  the  action 
A,  or  its  contrary  a ;  while  the  previous  circumstances  remain  the  same.8 

Hume,  with  most  of  whose  writings  Kant  was  acquainted,  fre- 
quently expressed  this  same  idea  in  such  terms  as  this :  "  There  is  a 
general  course  of  nature  in  human  actions  as  well  as  in  the  operations 
of  the  sun  and  the  climate." 4 

It  may  be  objected  that  these  sayings  of  philosophers  are  of  no 
value  as  lacking  proof,  and  as  simply  indicating  the  tendency  of  the 

1  "  Elements  of  Logic,"  by  Richard  Whately,  reprinted  from  the  9th  (octavo) 
edition,  Louisville,  1854,  pp.  236-237. 

2"A  System  of  Logic,"  by  John  Stuart  Mill,  People's  edition,  London,  1884, 
p.  547  (Book  VI,  Chapter  II,  §  2). 

8  "Observations  on  Man,  his  Frame,  his  Duty,  and  his  Expectations,"  by  David 
Hartley,  5th  edition,  London,  1810,  Vol.  I,  p.  515. 

4"A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,"  etc.,  by  David  Hume,  edited  by  T.  H.  Green 
and  T.  H.  Grose,  Vol.  II,  London,  1898,  p.  184. 


154  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

mind,  when  untrammeled  by  facts,  to  construct  a  logical  scheme. 
Let  us  therefore  turn  to  quite  the  opposite  type  of  mind,  viz.,  that  of 
the  practical  jurist  whose  opinions  are  always  derived  from  the  ex- 
periences of  men  in  their  regular  daily  operations.  Starkie  says :  — 

Experience  and  observation  show  that  the  conduct  of  mankind  is  gov- 
erned by  general  laws,  which  operate,  under  similar  circumstances,  with 
almost  as  much  regularity  and  uniformity  as  the  mechanical  laws  of  nature 
themselves.  ...  In  general,  all  the  affairs  and  transactions  of  mankind 
are  as  much  connected  together  in  one  uniform  and  consistent  whole,  with- 
out chasm  or  interruption,  and  with  as  much  mutual  dependence  on  each 
other,  as  the  phenomena  of  nature  are;  they  are  governed  by  general  laws ; 
all  the  links  stand  in  the  mutual  relations  of  cause  and  effect.  .  .  -1 

The  use  by  such  writers  of  such  qualifying  words  as  "  almost "  is 
not  to  be  construed  as  indicating  that  they  think  there  are  real 
exceptions  to  these  natural  laws  of  the  mind.  It  means  about  the 
same  as  it  would  to  say  that  bodies  almost  always  fall  to  the  ground. 
Because  balloons  do  not  fall  to  the  ground  does  not  invalidate  the 
law  of  gravitation.  The  mechanical  principles  of  psychic  action, 
instead  of  losing  ground  through  scientific  investigation,  are  being 
constantly  strengthened,  and  motives  are  coming  more  and  more  to 
be  recognized  as  true  forces.  The  reason  why  so  many  volitions 
do  not  cause  action  is  being  explained  by  various  physiological  forms 
of  inertia  and  especially  by  the  great  number  of  simultaneous  and 
conflicting  volitions  growing  out  of  the  more  and  more  complex 
character  of  the  developing  mind.  Mr.  Spencer  states  this  very  well 
in  the  following  passage :  — 

For  though  when  the  confusion  of  a  complex  impression  with  some  allied 
one  causes  a  confusion  among  the  nascent  motor  excitations,  there  is  en- 
tailed a  certain  hesitation;  and  though  this  hesitation  continues  as  long 
as  these  nascent  motor  excitations,  or  ideas  of  the  correlative  actions,  go  on 
superseding  one  another;  yet,  ultimately,  some  one  set  of  motor  excitations 
will  prevail  over  the  rest.  As  the  groups  of  antagonistic  tendencies  aroused 
will  scarcely  ever  be  exactly  balanced,  the  strongest  group  will  at  length  pass 
into  action.2 

Again  he  says :  — 

The  diffused  discharge  accompanying  feeling  of  every  kind  produces  on 
the  body  an  effect  that  is  indicative  of  feeling  simply,  irrespective  of  kind 

1<(A  Practical  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Evidence,"  by  Thomas  Starkie,  9th 
American  from  4th  London  edition,  Philadelphia,  1869,  pp.  70,  78. 

2 "Principles  of  Psychology,"  New  York,  1873,  Vol.  I,  p.  455  (§  204). 


CH.  ix]  PSYCHICS  155 

—  the  effect,  namely,  of  muscular  excitement.  From  the  shrinking  caused 
in  a  sleeping  person  by  a  touch,  up  to  the  contortions  of  agony  and  the 
caperings  of  delight,  there  is  a  recognized  relation  between  the  quantity  of 
feeling,  pleasurable  or  painful,  and  the  amount  of  motion  generated.1 

Of  course  this  is  all  much  more  clearly  seen  in  animals  than  in 
man,  because  the  rational  faculty,  while  it  does  not  in  the  slightest 
affect  the  principle,  introduces  so  many  incalculable  causes  of  per- 
turbation that  the  rigidity  of  the  psychic  laws  cannot  always 
be  seen.  If  this  class  of  obscuring  influences  can  be  nearly  or  quite 
removed,  as  it  is  in  the  lower  animals,  the  law  conies  out  in  great 
clearness.  Action  becomes  mainly  reflex,  and  its  physical  character 
can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  that  of  inanimate  bodies.  As 
illustrating  this  Professor  Ernst  Mach  says:  — 

The  ivory  snail  (Eburna  spiratd)  never  learns  to  avoid  the  carnivorous 
Actinia,  no  matter  how  often  it  may  wince  under  the  latter's  shower  of 
needles,  having  apparently  no  memory  whatever  for  pain.  A  spider  can  be 
lured  forth  repeatedly  from  its  hole  by  touching  its  web  with  a  tuning-fork. 
The  moth  plunges  again  and  again  into  the  flame  which  has  burnt  it.  The 
humming-bird  hawk-moth  dashes  repeatedly  against  the  painted  roses  of 
the  wall-paper,  like  the  unhappy  and  desperate  thinker  who  never  wearies  of 
attacking  in  the  same  way  the  same  insoluble  chimerical  problem.  As  aimlessly 
almost  as  Maxwell's  gaseous  molecules  and  in  the  same  unreasoning  manner, 
common  flies  in  their  search  for  light  and  air  stream  against  the  glass  pane 
of  a  half-opened  window  and  remain  there  from  sheer  inability  to  find  their 
way  around  the  narrow  frame.  But  a  pike  separated  from  the  minnows  of 
his  aquarium  by  a  glass  partition,  learns  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  months, 
though  only  after  having  butted  himself  half  to  death,  that  he  cannot  attack 
these  fishes  with  impunity.2 

Professor  James  well  says  that  "every  instinct  is  an  impulse," 
and  remarks :  — 

The  actions  we  call  instinctive  all  conform  to  the  general  reflex  type ;  they 
are  all  called  forth  by  determinate  sensory  stimuli  in  contact  with  the  ani- 
mal's body,  or  at  a  distance  in  his  environment.  The  cat  runs  after  the 
mouse,  runs  or  shows  fight  before  the  dog,  avoids  falling  from  walls  and 
trees,  shuns  fire  and  water,  etc.,  not  because  he  has  any  notion  either  of  life 
or  death,  or  of  self,  or  of  preservation.  He  has  probably  attained  to  no  one 
of  these  conceptions  in  such  a  way  as  to  react  definitely  upon  it.  He  acts 
in  each  case  separately,  and  simply  because  he  cannot  help  it;  being  so 
framed  that  when  that  particular  running  thing  called  a  mouse  appears  in 

1<(  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  p.  541  (§496). 

«  The  Monist,  Chicago,  Vol.  VI,  January,  1896,  pp.  166-167. 


156  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

his  field  of  vision  he  must  pursue;  that  when  that  particular  barking  and 
obstreperous  thing  called  a  dog  appears  there  he  must  retire,  if  at  a  distance, 
and  scratch  if  close  by ;  that  he  must  withdraw  his  feet  from  water  and  his 
face  from  flame,  etc.  His  nervous  system  is  to  a  great  extent  a  preorganized 
bundle  of  such  reactions  —  they  are  as  fatal  as  sneezing,  and  as  exactly  cor- 
related to  their  special  excitants  as  it  is  to  its  own.1 

Farther  on  the  same  author  says  that  "  consciousness  is  in  its  very 
nature  impulsive  "  (p.  526),  and  that  "  movement  is  the  natural  imme- 
diate effect  of  feeling,  irrespective  of  what  the  quality  of  the  feeling 
may  be.  It  is  so  in  reflex  action,  it  is  so  in  emotional  eocpression,  it  is 
so  in  the  voluntary  life  "  (p.  527),  all  of  which  accords  perfectly  with 
the  principle  under  consideration,  and  is  what  makes  a  science  of 
psychics  possible. 

Professor  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  who  of  course  makes  his  bow  to  the 
traditional  world  view  as  to  the  generic  distinctness  of  matter  and 
mind,  has  nevertheless  introduced  a  term  that  may  tend  somewhat 
to  soften  the  fall  of  that  conception.  He  says :  — 

It  is  generally  admitted  that  physical  phenomena,  including  those  which 
we  call  physiological,  can  be  explained  (or  are  explicable)  in  terms  of 
energy.  It  is  also  generally  admitted  that  consciousness  is  nevertheless  in 
some  way  closely,  if  not  indissolubly,  associated  with  special  manifestations 
of  energy  in  the  nerve-centers  of  the  brain.  Now,  we  call  manifestations 
of  energy  "  kinetic  "  manifestations,  and  we  use  the  term  "kinesis"  for  physi- 
cal manifestations  of  this  order.  Similarly,  we  may  call  concomitant  mani- 
festations of  the  mental  or  conscious  order  "  metakinetic,"  and  may  use  the 
term  "  metakinesis  "  for  all  manifestations  belonging  to  this  phenomenal 
order.  According  to  the  monistic  hypothesis,  every  mode  of  kinesis  has  its 
concomitant  mode  of  metakinesis,  and  when  the  kinetic  manifestations  assume  the 
form  of  the  molecular  processes  in  the  human  brain,  the  metakinetic  manifesta- 
tions assume  the  form  of  human  consciousness.  .  .  .  All  matter  is  not  con- 
scious, because  consciousness  is  the  metakinetic  concomitant  of  a  highly 
specialized  order  of  kinesis.  But  every  kinesis  has  an  associated  metakinesis ; 
and  parallel  to  the  evolution  of  organic  and  neural  kinesis  there  has  been  an  evo- 
lution of  metakinetic  manifestations  culminating  in  conscious  thought.  2 

Morgan's  metakinetic  energy  is  therefore  the  same  as  my  conative 
energy  or  form  of  causation,  and  the  difference  between  kinesis  and 
metakinesis  is  the  difference  between  motion  produced  by  physical 
or  ordinary  efficient  causes  and  motion  produced  by  psychic  or  cona- 
tive causes.  The  latter  are  at  bottom  efficient  causes  also.  All  ani- 

1  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  New  York,  1890,  Vol.  II,  p.  384. 

2  "  Auimal  Life  and  Intelligence,"  by  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  London,  1890-1891,  p.  467. 


en.  ix]  PSYCHICS  157 

mals  act  from  these  definite  forms  of  causation,  call  them  instincts, 
impulses,  motives,  or  by  any  other  name.  The  domestication  of 
animals  has  only  been  possible  from  the  knowledge  that  man  has 
acquired  of  these  uniform  and  reliable  springs  of  animal  action. 
Cattle,  sheep,  horses,  hogs,  etc.,  can  all  be  depended  upon  to  come 
where  they  expect  to  receive  food  or  whatever  satisfies  their  crav- 
ings. The  owner's  call,  which  they  learn  to  know,  brings  them  in 
haste  and  in  droves  to  the  crib.  They  have  no  sense  of  pride  in 
thus  acting  from  egoistic  motives,  but  come  always.  Man  knows 
this,  and  this  knowledge  makes  him  ashamed  to  act  like  animals. 
This  sense  of  shame  is  the  chief  additional  motive  that  modifies  his 
action.  He  has  the  egoistic  motives  even  more  strongly  developed 
than  the  animal,  but  he  seeks  to  conceal  them,  and  pretends  not  to 
be  governed  by  them.  Instead  of  proceeding  directly  to  the  desired 
object  and  appropriating  it,  as  animals  do,  he  makes  a  feint,  waits 
awhile  till  attention  is  turned  away  from  him,  or  starts  in  a  differ- 
ent direction  and  follows  some  circuitous  route  that  ultimately  brings 
him  to  it.  He  feigns  deliberation  and  nonchalance,  and  pretends  to 
care  least  for  that  which  he  most  desires.  Children  early  thus  become 
conscious,  and,  as  we  say,  sophisticated,  and  begin  that  life  of  indi- 
rection and  deception  that  they  are  to  lead.  Here  the  law  of  gen- 
eralization, laid  down  in  Chapter  IV,  comes  in  to  help  us  explain 
the  apparent  anomalies  in  human  action  which  the  close-range  view 
can  only  see,  and  which  give  rise  to  the  belief  that  the  actions  of 
men  are  not  governed  by  the  same  fixed  laws  as  those  of  animals. 
For  we  have  only  to  extend  our  sphere  of  observation  to  an  entire 
community,  to  a  whole  people,  or  to  the  events  of  human  history,  to 
see  that  in  spite  of  this  pretense  of  higher  motives,  or  of  indepen- 
dence of  motive,  the  human  race  really  acts  in  the  same  way  as  the 
animal,  pursues  the  objects  of  its  desires,  and  secures  and  appropri- 
ates them  with  the  same  disregard  of  others  as  do  the  more  humble 
creatures.  Time,  distance,  and  numbers  brush  away  the  thin  gauze 
that  obscures  the  actions  of  those  with  whom  we  are  in  close  con- 
tact, and  lay  bare  the  great  psychic  law  that  actuates  all  sentient 
creatures  alike. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  even  among  animals  there  are  not 
complications  that  often  obscure  this  law.  These  are  all  the  result, 
the  same  as  in  man,  of  conflicting  motives.  A  colt  that  is  "  hard  to 
catch  "  may  usually  be  caught  by  showing  it  a  lump  of  salt.  It 


158  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

then  will  stand  around  and  look  wistfully  at  the  salt,  perhaps  ap- 
proach some  distance,  and  as  the  person  trying  to  catch  it  advances, 
will  first  for  a  while  evade  him  and  dodge  about,  but  when  it  finds 
it  cannot  have  the  salt  without  coming  up  and  taking  it  from  the 
hand  it  will  usually  do  this  eventually  and  allow  the  halter  to  be 
put  on.  But  whatever  it  may  do  will  depend  rigidly  upon  the  rela- 
tive strength  of  the  motives.  If  it  prefers  liberty  to  salt  it  will 
decline  to  come,  and  vice  versa.  The  horse  is  a  very  good  animal  to 
study  from  this  point  of  view,  for  notwithstanding  its  reputation  for 
intelligence,  and  the  number  of  fine  anecdotes  supposed  to  establish 
this,  having  had  to  do  with  horses  all  my  life,  I  have  come  to  about 
the  same  conclusion  as  David  Harum,  that  "  hosses  don't  know  but 
dreadful  little,  really.  Talk  about  hoss  sense  —  wa'al  the'  ain't  no 
such  thing." l 

At  any  rate  a  horse's  motives  always  seem  to  stand  out  more 
clearly  than  those  of  other  animals,  and  they  can  always  be  easily 
read.  The  wants  of  horses  are  few  and  simple :  food,  water,  home 
(the  stable  or  place  where  kept,  to  which  they  are  strongly  wonted), 
and  company,  i.e.,  other  horses,  for  no  animal  has  the  "  conscious- 
ness of  kind"  more  firmly  rooted  in  its  nature.  Knowing  these 
motives  it  is  easy  to  predict  what  a  horse  will  do  under  given  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  also  easy  to  understand  why  horses  act  thus  and 
so.  Conflicting  motives  in  horses  are  also  clearly  displayed.  In 
driving  or  riding  a  horse  away  from  any  of  its  centers  of  attraction 
it  will  be  perfectly  apparent  that  it  wants  to  go  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Its  gait  and  rate  will  be  strongly  affected  by  the  fact. 
It  can  be  compared  to  rowing  a  boat  against  a  current.  With  the 
same  urging  the  horse  will  travel  much  slower  away  from  home 
than  towards  home,  and  the  percentage  of  difference  is  easily  calcu- 
lated-with  exactness  for  the  same  animal,  but  will  differ  with  differ- 
ent animals.  For  the  return  trip  no  urging  at  all  is  usually  required, 
and  it  may  be  necessary  to  restrain  the  horse.  When  the  direction 
is  away  from  the  place  of  wont,  if  the  reins  are  slackened  the  speed 
at  first  diminishes  and  would  ultimately  be  reduced  to  a  stop  if  the 
road  was  narrow.  But  if  the  course  lies  across  an  open  plain  with- 
out a  road  it  will  become  a  case  of  constrained  motion,  and  if  the 
horse  is  left  wholly  to  itself  it  will  describe  a  curve  and  finally  take 

1  "David  Harum,"  A  Story  of  American  Life,  by  Edward  Noyes  Westcott,  New 
York,  1899,  p.  161. 


CH.  ix]  PSYCHOMETRY  159 

the  direction  of  the  stable.  If  the  course  is  at  right  angles  to  that 
which  the  horse  desires  to  go  it  will  be  necessary  to  keep  one  rein 
tighter  than  the  other  to  prevent  the  horse  from  deviating  in  the 
direction  of  its  impulses.  This  may  be  compared  to  the  rowing  of  a 
boat,  or  to  swimming,  across  a  rapidly  running  stream.  *  It  is  neces- 
sary to  aim  at  a  point  considerably  one  side  of  the  one  it  is  desired 
to  reach,  in  order  to  allow  for  the  transverse  force.  If  the  point 
where  the  horse  desires  to  go  is  to  the  right,  it  is  like  crossing  the 
stream  from  the  right  to  the  left  bank,  and  vice  versa. 

The  conflict  of  motives  may  be  much  more  complex  than  these 
cases  imply,  and  some  of  the  possible  problems  might  be  beyond 
solution,  but  most  of  them  might  be  stated  and  solved  mathemati- 
cally. Complete  inaction  among  animals,  resulting  from  perfect 
equilibrium  of  psychic  forces,  is  probably  very  rare,  .because  the  gen- 
eral law  of  the  "  instability  of  the  homogeneous  "  puts  almost  infinity 
to  one  against  it,  and  this  is  the  true  answer  to  the  fool's  puzzle  of 
Buridan's  ass  that  starved  to  death  between  two  stacks  of  hay  be- 
cause the  attraction  of  one  stack  was  exactly  equal  to  the  attraction 
of  the  other.  It  might  also  be  applied  to  the  following  amusing 

rhyme :  — 

The  centipede  was  happy  quite 

Until  a  frog,  in  fun, 

Said,  "  Pray,  which  leg  comes  after  which?  " 

This  raised  its  mind  to  such  a  pitch, 

It  lay  distracted  in  the  ditch, 

Considering  how  to  run. 

But  in  the  case  of  man,  with  his  vastly  greater  number  of  motives, 
and  especially  with  his  reason,  by  which  he  is  capable  of  true  delib- 
eration, the  cases  are  common  in  which  such  a  multitude  of  more  or 
less  conflicting,  or  at  least  mutually  limiting  motives,  arise  and 
crowd  or  choke  one  another  in  such  a  way  that  there  is  produced,  if 
not  an  equilibrium,  at  least  a  glut  and  a  chdmage  in  the  mind  which 
renders  action  impossible  during  considerable  periods.  But  this 
state  always  eventually  works  itself  out,  and  certain  groups  of  mo- 
tives gain  the  ascendant,  and  action  is  resumed. 

PSYCHOMETRY 

Scientific  investigation  of  psychic  phenomena  does  not,  however, 
stop  with  establishing  the  qualitative  exactness  of  mental  processes. 
It  has  attacked  the  problem  of  their  quantitative  relations  and  has 


160  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

created  a  science  of  psychometry.  The  first  truth  reached  in  this 
direction  was  the  protensive  nature  of  all  psychic  reactions.  In  the 
psychological  laboratory  the  old  metaphysical  idea  of  their  indepen- 
dence of  time  and  space  was  quickly  dispelled.  It  was  found  that 
sensations  occupy  time  and  that  the  amount  of  time  has  a  certain 
relation  to  the  distance  they  must  travel.  But  the  results  are  greatly 
modified  by  the  nature  of  the  physiological  apparatus  through  which 
they  are  accomplished.  Such  problems  are  very  complicated. 
Helmholtz  found  that  sensations  travel  along  the  nerves  at  a  rate 
varying  from  84  to  96  feet  per  second.  Since  then  experiments 
have  been  multiplied  and  considerable  variation  from  these  figures 
has  been  noted,  so  that  the  range  may  now  perhaps  be  put  at  from 
60  to  150  feet  per  second.  But  this  does  not  probably  represent 
the  actual  velocity  of  sensation.  Much  of  the  time  is  doubtless  lost 
in  a  certain  process  of  elaboration  in  the  ganglia  and  sensory  tracts. 
Between  any  stimulus  and  its  consequent  action  a  certain  interval  of 
time  elapses  varying  from  one  tenth  to  three  tenths  of  a  second,  but 
the  personal  equation  of  different  persons  varies  greatly.  It  has 
been  found  that  the  act  of  winking  occupies  about  five  one  hun- 
dredths  of  a  second.  The  act  of  vision,  however,  is  almost  instan- 
taneous. It  has  been  stated  as  low  as  four  billionths  of  a  second. 
The  reaction  time  of  various  psychic  operations  has  been  experi- 
mented upon  and  more  or  less  exact  results  have  been  reached. 
Among  the  most  interesting  is  'that  which  fixes  the  time  required 
for  a  volition  at  thirty-five  thousandths  of  a  second.  A  great  num- 
ber of  instruments  have  been  invented  for  measuring  mental  opera- 
tions, among  which  is  an  "  algometer "  for  testing  the  quantity  of 
pain  experienced. 

All  this  has  a  possible  value  for  sociology,  but  the  most  impor- 
tant psychological  law,  from  this  point  of  view,  that  has  been  dis- 
covered, is  the  well-known  Weber-Fechner  law  that  sensations 
represent  the  logarithms  of  their  stimuli.  According  to  this  law 
if  a  stimulus  increases  in  a  geometrical  progression  the  resulting 
sensation  will  increase  in  intensity  in  an  arithmetical  progression. 
This  constitutes  a  sort  of  psychological  law  of  diminishing  returns, 
and  its  application  to  social  phenomena  is  obvious  and  far-reaching. 
It  is,  however,  chiefly  in  applied  sociology  that  its  value  appears, 
and  therefore  this  is  not  the  place  to  enter  fully  into  its  discus- 
sion. This  should  also  be  accompanied  with  a  statement  of  the 


CH.  ix]  THP:  LAW  OF  PARSIMONY  161 

qualifications  that  it  has  been  found  necessary  to  make  in  the  law 

itself. 

THE  LAW  or  PARSIMONY 

We  found  in  the  fourth  chapter  that  the  law  of  parsimony  was 
the  highest  generalization  thus  far  attained  in  psychic  and  social 
phenomena,  and  that  therefore  its  quality  of  exactness  was  the 
most  clearly  apparent  of  all  psychic  and  social  laws.  It  is  therefore 
one  of  the  most  important  of  the  laws  of  social  mechanics.  It  is 
the  resultant  of  the  mechanical  forces  of  society,  or  the  algebraic 
sum  of  pleasures  and  pains,  and  the  quantity  and  quality  of  human 
activity  depend  upon  that  sum  and  its  sign.  Greatest  gain  for  least 
effort  means,  when  reduced  to  these  terms:  greatest  pleasure  for 
least  pain.  Pleasure  and  pain  are  both  motives,  and  although  phys- 
iologically they  are  both  positive,  sociologically  pleasure  may  be 
called  positive  and  pain  negative.  If  the  positive  terms  exceed  the 
negative  ones  the  resultant  action  will  be  positive,  i.e.,  it  will  be  in 
the  nature  of  pursuit.  If  the  negative  terms  exceed  the  positive 
ones  the  resultant  action  will  be  negative,  i.e.,  it  will  be  in  the 
nature  of  retreat.  The  law  is  therefore  merely  the  mechanical 
expression  of  least  action,  and  is  perhaps  scarcely  more  than  a  case 
of  Maupertius's  mechanical  theorem  of  least  action,  of  Lagrange's 
principle  of  minimal  effort  or  maximal  energy.  Dr.  0.  Thon  has 
well  said :  — 

Particular  mention  should  be  made  of  the  point  of  view  that  differentia- 
tion is  an  effect  of  effort  for  conservation  of  energy.  This  thought,  which  is 
used  in  psychology  as  "  the  law  of  minimum  effort,"  and  in  various  ways 
in  the  natural  sciences,  should  be  made  useful  in  sociology.1 

Although  long  regarded  as  a  purely  economic  law  it  is  found  to 
apply  to  all  human  institutions.  M.  Tarde  calls  attention  to  one  of 
its  most  striking  applications,  viz.,  to  language.  He  says :  — 

The  law  of  least  effort  explains  many  irreversibilities.  In  virtue  of  this 
universal  tendency,  although  unequal  and  variable,  the  phonetic  softening 
studied  by  linguists  takes  place,  that  substitution  of  mild  syllables,  of  a 
pronunciation  easy  and  rapidly  propagated,  for  strong  and  harsh  syllables; 
likewise  the  attenuation  of  quantity,  which  tends  to  render  the  long  short, 
never  the  short  long,  as  is  especially  shown  by  a  comparison  of  the  older 
with  the  later  Latin  poets.  Under  the  influence  of  this  same  tendency,  sym- 
bols, changing  so  as  to  propagate  themselves  farther  and  more  rapidly,  are 

i  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  II,  March,  1897,  pp.  735-736. 

M 


162  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

simplified,  abridged,  and  polished  down,  like  forms  of  procedure,  business 
operations,  and  artistic  themes.1 

It  is  the  same  principle  that  explains  that  survival  of  the  fittest 
that  goes  on  among  languages  whenever  several  are  struggling 
together  for  the  mastery.  ISTo  one  has  so  forcibly  brought  out 
this  point  as  M.  Alphonse  de  Candolle.  "In  the  conflict  of  two 
languages,"  he  says,  "  other  things  equal,  it  is  the  shortest  and 
simplest  that  wins.  French  beats  Italian  and  German,  English 
beats  the  other  languages."  As  a  consequence  of  this  law  he 
concludes  that  English  "  will  be  spoken  in  half  a  century  by  many 
more  civilized  men  than  German  and  French  combined,"  and  that 
"the  Anglo-American  tongue  is  destined  by  the  force  of  circum- 
stances to  become  predominant."2 

The  law  of  parsimony  does  not  always  work  in  the  interest  of 
progress.  As  we  saw  in  Chapter  IV,  it  often  causes  degeneracy. 
One  of  its  less  serious  consequences  is  its  tendency  to  deter  from 
earnest  and  fruitful  labors.  Mr.  Spencer  says :  — 

Nearly  all  are  prone  to  mental  occupations  of  easy  kinds,  or  kinds  which 
yield  pleasurable  excitements  with  small  efforts  ;  and  history,  biography, 
fiction,  poetry,  are,  in  this  respect,  more  attractive  to  the  majority  than 
science  —  more  attractive  than  that  knowledge  of  the  order  of  things  at 
large  which  serves  for  guidance.8 

But  there  is  a  serious  flaw  in  the  statement  of  this  law.  The 
simple  form,  as  the  law  of  greatest  gain,  is  perfectly  correct.  So 
is  the  form  "  greatest  satisfaction  with  least  sacrifice," 4  for  effort 
is  not  always  equivalent  to  sacrifice.  The  "least  effort"  part  of 
the  formula  grew  out  of  the  almost  universal  assumption  of  econo- 
mists that  labor  is  always  undesirable,  unpleasant,  irksome,  and 
odious.  Mr.  Veblen,  in  his  "  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,"  has  ad- 
mirably shown  how,  why,  and  to  what  extent  this  is  so.  Ratzen- 
hof er  characterizes  it  as  the  "  Gesetz  der  Arbeitsscheu," 5  and  sees  it 
in  practically  the  same  light  as  Veblen.  Now  this  Arbeitsscheu  or 
ponophobia,  as  it  may  be  called,  being  purely  artificial  and  due 

1  "  Logique  Sociale,"  1895,  p.  182. 

2  "  Histoire  des  Sciences  et  des  Savants,"  2"  ed.,  Geneve-Bale,  1885,  pp.  368,  454, 
543. 

»  "  Principles  of  Ethics,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1892,  p.  519  (§  222). 

4  Professor  Sidney  Sherwood  in  the  Annals  of  the  Am.  Acad.  of  Pol.  and  Soc. 
Science,  Vol.  X,  September,  1897,  p.  206. 

5  "  Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  Leipzig,  1898,  p.  142. 


en.  ix]  MECHANICS  163 

either  to  a  stigma  of  caste  or  an  unnatural  excess  of  compulsory 
effort,  gives  the  law  a  different  meaning  in  sociology  from  that 
which  it  has  in  the  rest  of  the  sciences.  Effort  expended  in  labor, 
though  it  be  not  arduous,  irksome,  excessive,  or  in  itself  unpleasant, 
becomes  a  sacrifice  of  pride. 

The  true  basis  of  the  law  of  parsimony  is  utility,  and  it  then 
becomes  little  more  than  another  form  of  expression  for  the  law 
of  marginal  utility,  which  is  also  a  sociological  law.  But  utility 
itself  is  ultimately  reducible  to  satisfaction,  happiness,  pleasure, 
and  we  are  once  more  down  on  psychological  bed  rock.  Condorcet, 
who  was  not  afraid  of  words,  and  who  had  wonderful  penetration 
into  such  subjects,  uttered  about  the  whole  truth  in  the  following 
passage : — 

Man  always  disposes  himself  for  the  action  that  promises  him  the 
greatest  happiness.  Whether  he  yields  to  the  attraction  of  a  present 
pleasure,  or  whether  he  resists  it  in  view  of  a  more  remote  advantage  ; 
whether  he  allows  himself  to  be  drawn  on  by  pleasure,  by  avarice,  by 
ambition,  or  whether  he  sacrifices  these  to  the  love  of  glory,  to  a  feeling 
for  humanity,  to  tenderness  for  some  individual,  to  the  fear  of  remorse,  to 
the  desire  to  taste  that  internal  contentment  that  follows  fidelity  to  the 
rules  of  justice  and  the  practice  of  virtue ;  whether  he  is  inclined  toward 
the  good  by  a  calculation  of  interest  founded  on  coarse  enjoyments  or  the 
noblest  and  purest  pleasures,  by  the  idea  of  reward  and  punishment  in 
another  life  or  even  by  an  enthusiasm  which  unites  him  to  the  will  of  a 
Supreme  Being,  he  always  performs  the  action  from  which  he  expects  either 
a  greater  pleasure  or  a  lesser  pain.1 

This  form  of  statement  of  the  law  of  parsimony  really  requires 
no  qualification,  but  on  account  of  the  prevalent  habit  of  identifying 
all  pleasure  with  the  class  that  men  are  pleased  to  call  low  or 
coarse,  but  which,  as  I  have  shown,  are  not  only  the  most  essential 
to  the  scheme  of  nature  and  the  good  of  mankind,  but  also  the  most 
altruistic,  it  may  require  fuller  explanation,  and  this  will  be  given 
in  Chapter  XV,  where  the  whole  subject  will  be  fully  treated. 

MECHANICS 

Mechanics  is  that  branch  of  mathematics  which  treats  of  the 
effects  of  forces  as  exhibited  in  the  production  of  motion  or  rest. 
In  text-books  the  production  of  rest  is  treated  before  the  production 
of  motion,  the  state  of  rest  being  due  to  an  equilibrium  of  forces. 

1  "Tableau  Historique  des  Progrfcs  de  1'Esprit  Humain,"  Paris,  1900,  pp.  357-358. 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

This  department  is  called  statics,  and  the  department  which  treats 
of  forces  not  in  equilibrium,  and  therefore  producing  motion,  is 
called  dynamics.  The  principles  of  mechanics  are  in  their  funda- 
mental aspects  very  simple  and  the  science  is  one  of  the  most 
fascinating  in  the  whole  range  of  mathematics.  The  principle  of 
the  composition  of  forces,  susceptible,  as  it  is,  to  geometrical  nota- 
tion, especially  in  the  parallelogram  of  forces  and  its  various  modifi- 
cations and  derivatives,  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  and  fertile 
that  have  been  discovered  in  any  science.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  mechanics,  applicable,  as  it  is,  to  the  entire  domain  of  physics, 
has  also  proved  one  of  the  most  useful  of  all  sciences.  Into  all 
this  it  would  be  both  profitless  and  inappropriate  to  enter  here, 
but  it  is  obvious  that  the  general  principles  of  mechanics  apply  to 
any  domain  of  phenomena  in  which  the  nature  of  the  underlying 
forces  is  clearly  understood.  In  astronomy,  in  all  branches  of 
physics,  in  geology,  to  considerable  extent  in  chemistry,  and  in 
some  restricted  departments  of  biology,  these  principles  have  been 
successfully  applied.  Their  use  by  political  economists  has  been 
quite  legitimate,  and  important  results  have  been  reached.  The 
only  difficulty  here  has  been  the  ignoring  of  factors  that  should 
have  been  included,  but  which  were,  for  the  most  part,  too  complex 
and  recondite  to  be  sufficiently  understood.  In  consequence  of 
these  same  factors,  which  will  be  dealt  with  more  fully  in  Part  III, 
the  application  of  mechanics  to  sociology  is  still  more  difficult,  but 
in  some  respects  the  broader  aspect  of  that  science  gives  it  a  cer- 
tain advantage  over  economics  proper  from  this  point  of  view.  As 
I  have  already  said,  the  use  of  mathematics  in  sociology  is  as  yet 
possible  only  in  a  very  limited  degree.  The  most  that  can  be  done 
is  to  insist  from  the  outset  and  throughout  that  sociology  is  a 
domain  of  forces  and  susceptible  of  such  treatment  as  fast  as,  and 
to  the  extent  that,  the  action  of  those  forces  is  thoroughly  under- 
stood. 

As  pointed  out  in  Chapter  IV,  it  is  necessary  as  yet  to  confine  the 
attempt  to  treat  sociology  as  an  exact  science  to  its  most  general 
aspects,  but  so  long  as  this  limitation  is  rigidly  respected  it  is  possi- 
ble so  to  treat  it,  and  the  result  becomes  of  the  highest  value.  The 
laws  that  have  been  set  forth  in  this  chapter,  viz.,  those  of  social 
physics  and  of  psychics,  and  the  law  of  parsimony  or  maximum 
utility,  are  social  generalizations  that  can  be  depended  upon.  Upon 


en.  ix]  MECHANICS  165 

them  can  be  established  a  true  science  of  social  mechanics,  which, 
with  the  proper  caution  against  the  neglect  of  hidden  and  deranging 
factors,  will  include  and  elucidate  the  greater  part  of  the  vast  field 
of  social  phenomena. 

Social  Energy.  —  The  only  two  absolutely  irreducible  categories  of 
philosophy  are  mass  and  motion.  Space  and  time  are  the  essential 
"  forms  "  that  these  must  be  conditioned  by.  Mechanics  deals  with 
these  four  terms.  Velocity  is  the  amount  of  space  (distance)  that  a 
body  (mass)  moves  through  in  a  given  time.  It  is  represented  by 

fs       \ 
the  space  divided  by  the  time  f  -  =  v  j-    The  quantity  of  motion  (mo- 

V        J  /  \ 

mentum)  is  the  mass  into  the  velocity  ( —  =  my  V     If  a  moving  mass 

\t  J 

collides  it  exerts  its  force  on  the  mass  impinged,  thus  checking  the 

momentum  by  transferring  a  part  of  the  motion  to  the  second  body. 
The  force  thus  exerted  is  expressed  by  dividing  the  momentum  by 

the  time  [—  =—  —  )•     But  the  kinetic  energy,  or  vis  viva,  which  is 

\*        *  J 
what  is  now  understood  by  physicists  by  the  technical  term  energy, 

is  the  product  of  the  mass  into  the  square  of  the  velocity,  though  if 
a  given  force  be  converted  into  energy  this  product  must  be  divided 
by  two.  Finally  the  production  or  consumption  of  energy  represents 
the  mechanical  power,  which  is  to  energy  what  force  is  to  momen- 
tum, requiring  the  energy  to  be  divided  by  the  time. 

-n,  ms     mv  \ 

Force  =  f-— 


Energy  =  f^-  =  w 

Power  =(f  =  ^| 

Sociologists  who  speak  of  social  forces  have  been  charged  with 
failing  to  recognize  the  great  advance  that  was  made  in  physics  by 
the  general  substitution  of  energy  for  force  after  the  discovery  of 
Joule  that  it  is  energy  that  is  conserved.  Yet  Helmholtz's  great 
memoir  which  laid  the  foundation  for  the  law  of  the  conservation  of 
energy  is  entitled  "  The  Conservation  of  Force  "  (Die  Erhaltung  der 
Kraft}.  The  charge  against  the  sociologists  is  not  sustained.  Soci- 
ology was  founded  by  a  mathematician  who  was  thoroughly  familiar 
with  the  nature  of  energy.  The  following  passage  was  first  pub- 


166  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

lished  in  1830 :  "  The  first  and  most  remarkable  of  them  [mechanical 
theorems],  the  one  that  presents  the  most  important  advantages  in 
its  application,  consists  in  the  celebrated  theorem  of  the  conservation 
of  live  forces  (forces  vives)."  And  he  proceeds  to  give  the  history  of 
the  discovery  of  this  property  by  Huyghens,  its  further  application 
by  Jean  Bernouilli,  who,  he  says,  exaggerated  the  "  famous  distinc- 
tion introduced  by  Leibnitz  between  dead  and  live  forces." *  I  have 
probably  made  more  of  the  social  forces  than  any  other  writer  on 
sociology,  and  I  may  not  have  as  fully  recognized  the  distinction 
between  force  and  energy  in  my  early  works  as  I  should  have  done, 
but  I  have  constantly  used  the  expression,  and  in  a  paper  entitled 
"  The  Social  Forces," 2  published  in  1896, 1  fully  set  forth  the  distinc- 
tion. Winiarsky  is  also  insisting  upon  it  as  altogether  applicable  to 
sociology  as  a  mathematical  science. 

In  view  of  all  this,  and  merely  as  a  sample  of  much  that  is  being 
said,  let  us  listen  to  a  modern  physicist,  who,  as  in  most  cases, 
assumes  to  be  competent  to  discuss  sociological  questions :  — 

It  is  not  only  in  those  departments  of  science  where  the  uniformity  of 
natural  law  would  seem  to  be  a  legitimate  deduction  that  the  scientific 
method  has  found  favor  with  investigators,  for  at  the  present  time  many  of 
the  writers  on  ethics  and  sociology  and  theology  are  attempting  to  apply 
the  methods  and  the  laws  of  physical  science  in  their  fields  of  investigation. 
It  is  noticeable,  however,  that  it  is  not  the  new  physics  of  energy,  but  the 
old  physics  of  forces,  which  is  being  thus  applied.  The  physics  which  has 
been  rendered  obsolete  by  the  investigation  of  the  century  has  been  taken 
up  by  the  sociologist,  and  we  have  this  mighty  organism,  man,  still  strug- 
gling with  as  many  forces  as  were  formerly  supposed  to  battle  for  the  con- 
trol of  the  physical  bodies  of  his  individual  members.  ...  If  there  is  any 
spiritual  universe,  the  phenomena  of  ethics  are  spiritual  phenomena.  The 
assumption  of  natural  law,  that  is,  physical  law,  in  the  spiritual  universe 
means  that  there  is  no  spiritual  universe.  A  universe  governed  by  the  laws 
of  physics  is  a  universe  in  which  there  is  no  right  or  wrong,  justice  or  injus- 
tice, reward  or  punishment :  nothing  but  inevitable  consequences.  .  .  .  This 
much,  at  least,  is  certain :  if  there  is  not  a  uniformity  of  nature  ,in  social 
phenomena  so  that  effects  follow  causes  with  the  same  certainty  as  they  do 
in  the  physical  universe,  then  is  there  no  science  of  sociology,  and  no  such 
thing  as  a  moral  or  social  law.  In  so  far  as  man  is  a  free,  moral  agent, 
capable  of  determining  his  own  conduct,  all  attempts  at  predicting  what  he 
will  do  under  given  circumstances  must  fail.  Only  in  so  far  as  man  is  gov- 
erned, not  merely  influenced,  by  laws  as  unalterable  and  unvarying  as  are 

1  Auguste  Comte,  "  Philosophic  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  519,  520. 

2  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  II,  July,  1896,  pp.  82-83. 


CH.  ix]  MECHANICS  167 

the  laws  of  the  physical  universe,  can  his  actions  furnish  the  materials  of 
scientific  study.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  such  laws,  then  all  attempts 
of  man  at  influencing  the  social  order  will  be  as  successful  as  would  attempts 
at  revising  the  law  of  gravitation.1 

The  last  sentence  in  the  above  quotation,  which,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  logicality,  fairly  represents  the  whole,  might  be  paraphrased 
as  follows  :  "  If  there  are  unalterable  and  unvarying  physical  laws, 
then  all  attempts  of  man  to  utilize  physical  phenomena  will  be  as 
successful  as  would  attempts  at  revising  the  law  of  gravitation." 
For  the  only  object  in  "  influencing  "  social  phenomena  must  be  to 
utilize  them.  The  idea  that  sociologists  think  they  are  engaged  in 
"  revising  "  social  laws  is  decidedly  refreshing.  So  far  as  I  can  see 
they  are  simply  trying  to  understand  them,  just  as  the  physicists 
tried  to  understand  physical  laws,  and  many  of  them  doubtless  have 
at  least  a  mental  reservation  that,  besides  this  knowledge  for  its 
own  sake,  some  one  may  some  day  in  some  way  be  benefited  by  it. 
Surely  this  is  what  the  physicists  all  thought,  and  the  result  has 
abundantly  sustained  this  surmise.  The  truth  is  exactly  the  oppo- 
site from  his  statement,  viz.,  that  if  there  are  no  "  unalterable  and 
unvarying  "  social  laws,  then  all  attempts  at  "  influencing,"  i.e.,  im- 
proving, the  social  order  would  be  hopeless. 

I  am  always  very  chary  about  using  such  expressions  as  "  spiritual 
phenomena,"  because  the  word  spiritual  has  almost  become  a  syno- 
nym of  supernatural.  Yet  the  word  is  a  perfectly  proper  one 
and  ought  to  be  redeemed  and  freely  used,  more  nearly  as  a  synonym 
of  psychic  in  its  widest  sense,  and  I  shall  not  hesitate  so  to  use  it. 
The  last  three  chapters  have  been  devoted  to  showing  that  spiritual 
phenomena  are  as  much  natural  phenomena  as  physical  phenomena, 
that  spiritual  forces  are  true  natural  forces,  and  that  there  is  a 
spiritual  energy,  i.e.,  a  psychic  and  social  energy,  that  is  as  capable 
of  doing  work  as  any  other  form  of  kinetic  energy.  In  fact  it  is  the 
highest  and  most  effective  form  of  energy  or  vis  viva. 

There  is  therefore  a  true  science  of  social  mechanics,  and  as  social 
energy  is  only  a  special  mode  of  manifestation  of  the  universal 
energy,  social  mechanics  is  only  a  kind  of  mechanics  which  deals  with 
this  form  of  energy.  The  fundamental  classification  of  mechanics, 

1  The  Scientific  Method  and  its  Limitations.  Address  at  the  eighth  Annual  Com- 
mencement, Leland  Stanford  Junior  University,  May  24,  1899,  by  Fernando  Sanford, 
Professor  of  Physics,  Stanford  University,  1899,  pp.  19-21. 


168  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

as  we  saw,  is  into  statics  and  dynamics,  and  social  statics  and  social 
dynamics  are  as  legitimate  branches  of  mechanics  as  are  hydrostatics 
and  hydrodynamics,  the  principles  of  which  are  commonly  included 
in  text-books  of  mechanics.  In  fact,  Winiarsky  has  made  a  direct 
application  of  thermodynamics  to  social  mechanics  as  essential  to  its 
full  treatment.  I  shall  deal  with  social  statics  and  social  dynamics 
in  that  order,  which  is  the  same  as  that  in  which  mechanics  is  always 
treated,  the  advantage  of  which  is  even  greater  here  than  in  other 
departments,  as  will  be  clearly  apparent  as  we  proceed. 


CHAPTER   X 
SOCIAL  STATICS 

THE  dynamic  agent  is  a  powerful  agent.  Chere  is  no  lack  of 
power  for  propelling  the  social  machinery.  Social  energy  surges 
through  society  in  all  directions,  but,  like  a  liood  or  a  storm,  it  is 
ruthless  The  innate  interests  of  men  work  at  cross  purposes,  often 
to  no  purpose.  They  conflict,  collide,  and  dash  against  one  another, 
but  in  such  an  unorganized,  haphazard,  and  chaotic  way  that  they 
do  not  produce  equilibrium  but  mutual  ruin.  The  dynamic  agent, 
like  any  other  cosmic  force,  is  centrifugal,  catabolic,  destructive.  If 
there  was  no  way  of  curbing  or  harnessing  the  social  energy  there 
would  be  nothing  but  destruction  —  no  construction.  In  Chapter 
VII  we  considered  two  modes  of  natural  restraint  to  feeling,  one  of 
which  was  on  the  human  plane  and  related  to  the  dynamic  agent  of 
society.  We  must  now  go  much  deeper  into  the  gener^.  problem 
of  restraining  social  energy.  As,  however,  the  actual  process  that 
has  gone  on  in  society  has  done  so  under  the  operation  of  a  truly 
cosmic  or  universal  principle,  it  cannot  be  adequately  understood 
without  first  understanding  its  simpler  manifestations  in  nature  at 
large. 

PRINCIPLE  VERSUS  LAW 

I  use  the  word  principle  here  instead  of  law  intentionally,  because 
there  is  an  essential  difference.  Both  words  are,  it  is  true,  often 
used  very  loosely  and  vaguely,  so  as  to  render  them  interchangeable, 
but  the  distinction  should  be  insisted  upon  in  any  scientific  discus- 
sion. There  is  little  or  no  difference  between  law  and  theory,  as  the 
latter  term  is  used  by  mathematicians  and  physicists.  A  law  is  the 
general  expression  of  the  natural  sequence  of  uniform  phenomena. 
It  states  the  fact  that  certain  phenomena  uniformly  take  place  in  a 
certain  way.  It  takes  no  account  of  cause,  but  only  of  the  order  of 
events.  A  principle,  on  the  contrary,  deals  wholly  with  the  cause, 
or,  perhaps  more  correctly,  with  the  manner.  It  is  the  modus  oper- 
andi.  It  has  to  do  with  the  means  or  instrument  by  which  the 

169 


170  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

effects  are  produced.  It  is  essentially  an  ablative  conception.  As 
principles  deal  with  causes  they  must  deal  with  forces.  Gravitation, 
for  example,  is  a  force,  but  it  operates  in  a  regular  way  which  we 
call  the  law  of  gravitation.  Its  various  applications  are  principles 
or  utilize  principles.  Thus  the  weight  of  water  is  a  force,  but  the 
different  kinds  of  water-wheels  act  on  so  many  different  principles 
—  overshot,  undershot,  flutter,  turbine,  etc.  The  turbine  wheel,  for 
example,  acts  on  the  principle  of  reaction,  according  to  Newton's 
third  law  of  motion  that  action  and  reaction  are  equal  and  opposite. 
Other  applications  of  the  law  of  gravitation  are  those  of  weights, 
the  balance,  the  pendulum,  etc.,  all  of  which  involve  different  princi- 
ples. Water  and  steam  expand  by  heat  according  to  a  certain  law. 
This  expansion  of  steam  is  a  force  which  has  been  utilized  by  means 
of  a  number  of  mechanical  principles  —  the  piston,  the  cut-off,  the 
governor,  etc. 

Again,  evolution  is  a  law,  or  takes  place  according  to  a  law,  the 
phenomena  succeeding  each  other  in  a  definite  order  of  sequence. 
We  observe  the  successive  phenomena  and  from  them,  deduce  or 
formulate  the  law.  But  natural  selection  is  a  principle.  It  teaches 
how  the  effects  thus  observed  are  produced.  Malthus's  great  book, 
the  "  Principle  of  Population,"  was  correctly  named,  and  the  princi- 
ple is  there  fully  explained.  So  the  expression  which  I  prefer  to 
others  of  the  same  import,  viz.,  the  "  principle  of  advantage,"  con- 
forms to  this  definition  and  applies  wherever  there  can  be  an  advan- 
tage, i.e.,  to  all  sentient  things.  Creative  synthesis  is  a  principle 
of  far-reaching  application  in  both  the  inorganic  and  the  organic 
worlds,  and  each  of  the  synthetic  creations  of  nature  passed  in 
review  in  Chapter  V  was  brought  about  under  the  operation  of 
this  principle.  All  the  products  of  natural  genesis  involve  appro- 
priate principles. 

A  law  cannot  explain  anything,  but  must  itself  be  explained. 
Principles  alone  explain.  The  law  of  gravitation  is  as  yet  unex- 
plained. No  principle  has  been  found  that  explains  it  to  the  satis- 
faction of  physicists.  The  world  is  therefore  never  satisfied  with 
laws.  It  demands  principles.  The  positivists  may  affect  to  dis- 
pense with  causes  and  be  content  with  mere  observed  succession,  but 
the  mind  will  never  be  at  rest  until  the  principle  according  to  which 
that  succession  goes  on  is  discovered  and  the  phenomena  are  thereby 
really  explained. 


CH.  x]  SYNERGY  171 

SYNERGY 

That  there  is  a  universal  principle,  operating  in  every  department 
of  nature  and  at  every  stage  in  evolution,  which  is  conservative, 
creative,  and  constructive,  has  been  evident  to  me  for  many  years, 
but  it  required  long  meditation  and  extensive  observation  to  dis- 
cover its  true  nature.  After  having  fairly  grasped  it  I  was  still 
troubled  to  reduce  it  to  its  simplest  form,  and  characterize  it  by  an 
appropriate  name.  I  have  at  last  fixed  upon  the  word  synergy  as  the 
term  best  adapted  to  express  its  twofold  character  of  energy  and 
mutuality,  or  the  systematic  and  organic  working  together  of  the  anti- 
thetical forces  of  nature.  The  third  and  equally  essential  and 
invariable  quality  of  creation  or  construction  is  still  lacking  in  the 
name  chosen,  unless  we  assume,  as  I  think  we  may  do,  that  work 
implies  some  product,  to  distinguish  it  from  simple  activity.  Syn- 
ergy is  a  synthesis  of  work,  or  synthetic  work,  and  this  is  what  is 
everywhere  taking  place.  It  may  be  said  to  begin  with  the 
primary  atomic  collision  in  which  mass,  motion,  time,  and  space 
are  involved,  and  to  find  its  simplest  expression  in  the  formula  for 

force  ( ^r  )>  which  implies  a  plurality  of  elements,  and  signifies  an 

x  *  / 
interaction  of  these  elements.     Caspari  says :  — 

The  notion  of  force  presupposes  a  relation  with  another  force,  the  latter 
a  foreign  one,  which  is  called  resistance.  A  force  without  resistance  would 
be  a  force  without  force,  i.e.,  an  inconceivable  absurdity.  He  who  speaks 
of  force  is  therefore  obliged  to  understand  by  it  at  the  same  time  the 
mechanical  resistance  of  this  force,  or  else  he  contradicts  himself.  This  is 
why  all  investigators  in  philosophy  who  have  become  so  through  the  study 
of  the  natural  sciences  and  who  have  studied  mechanics,  have  recognized 
that  it  is  always  necessary  to  suppose  a  primary  plurality  of  separate  vehicles 
of  force :  centers  of  force,  atoms  of  force  of  Democritus,  or  monads  of  Leib- 
nitz, or  realities  of  Herbart,  or  dynamids  of  Redtenbacher,  etc.1 

It  further  seems  probable  that  vortex  motion  is  based  on  this 
principle,  or  is  the  same  principle,  and  it  is  through  this  that  some 
expect  the  problem  of  the  nature  of  gravitation  to  find  its  solution. 
The  impact  theory  is  taking  the  place  of  the  old  pseudo-conception 
of  attraction.  There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  attraction  except  in 
the  sense  in  which  the  little  microscopic  creature,  happily  named 

1  "Die  Philosophic  im  Bunde  mit  der  Naturforschung."  Von  Otto  Caspari,  Cos- 
mos, Vol.  I,  April,  1877,  pp.  4-16  (see  p.  9). 


172  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Yorticella,  is  said  to  "  attract "  the  nutrient  particles  floating  in  the 
medium  in  which  it  lives  into  its  mouth  opening.  Any  one  who  will 
carefully  watch  this  process  with  a  good  objective  and  with  the 
medium  properly  illuminated  will  readily  see  wherein  this  so-called 
attraction  consists.  A  circle  of  cilia  surrounds  the  creature's 
mouth  opening,  and  these  it  keeps  constantly  in  motion  in  such  a 
way  as  first,  to  waft  all  the  particles  that  surround  it  for  some  dis- 
tance outward  and  forward,  and  next  to  produce  a  true  vortex 
motion  which  results  in  the  production  of  a  constant  stream  directly 
in  front  toward  and  into  the  cavity  of  its  body  within  the  circle  of 
cilia.  The  separate  illuminated  particles  may  be  watched  as  they 
are  first  propelled  from  near  the  creature's  body,  then  carried  for- 
ward and  made  to  describe  a  curve,  and  finally  forced  into  the 
in-flowing  current,  and  poured  into  the  animal's  body.  Certain 
experiments  that  have  been  recently  made  look  in  the  direction  of 
explaining  gravitation  on  a  principle  similar  to  this. 

Cosmic  Dualism.  —  It  always  happens  that  a  great  truth  receives  a 
name  too  narrow  to  comprehend  its  full  scope,  and  that  certain 
minds  in  glorifying  that  truth  attach  themselves  to  the  name  and 
give  currency  to  something  not  only  less  than  the  truth  but  also  in 
some  degree  false.  It  has  been  notably  thus  with  the  name  monism 
which  has  come  into  use  as  the  short  and  economical  designation  of 
the  great  truth  that  there  is  a  unitary  principle  running  through  all 
nature.  Monism  has  become  a  sort  of  philosophic  shibboleth,  and 
the  term  to  which  it  is  commonly  opposed  is  dualism.  It  has 
come  about  in  this  way  that  dualism  is  used  as  an  epithet  which  is 
freely  hurled  at  all  who  make  bold  to  question  even  the  narrowest 
and  most  metaphysical  or  mystical  doctrines  into  which  monism  has 
latterly  degenerated.  All  this  has  as  its  natural  result  to  cause 
other -equally  important  truths,  in  supposed  conflict  with  monism, 
to  be  ignored  or  fought  shy  of,  whereby  a  full  knowledge  of  nature's 
method  is  prevented  and  only  partial  truth  or  even  partial  error  is 
propagated  and  accepted. 

Second  only  in  importance,  if  not  of  equal  importance,  to  the  truth 
of  cosmic  unity  is  the  fact  of  universal  polarity.  The  universe  is 
polarized  throughout.  Every  force  meets  with  resistance,  otherwise 
there  could  be  no  energy.  Universal  conflict  reigns.  But  for  this 
conflict  evolution  would  be  impossible.  The  forces  of  nature  are 
being  perpetually  restrained.  If  centrifugal  forces  were  not  con- 


CH.  x]  COSMIC  DUALISM  173 

strained  by  centripetal  forces  the  very  orbs  of  space  would  fly  from 
their  orbits  and  follow  tangents,  i.e.,  straight  lines.  If  there  had 
never  been  such  restraint  they  would  never  have  been  formed.  All 
definite  forms  of  whatever  class  are  due  to  antagonistic  influences 
restraining,  circumscribing,  and  transforming  motion.  The  conser- 
vation of  energy  results  from  this  law,  and  all  the  multiform  modes 
of  motion,  perpetually  being  converted  one  into  another,  are  the 
products  of  a  ceaseless  struggle.  Not  only  do  the  centrifugal  and 
centripetal  forces  engage  in  this  struggle,  but  we  also  see  contending 
on  a  gigantic  scale  the  gravitant  and  radiant  forces.  We  see  attrac- 
tion and  repulsion,  concentration  and  dissipation,  condensation  and 
dissolution.  Though  these  are  all  equally  modes  of  manifestation 
of  the  universal  force,  they  are  nevertheless,  by  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, pitted  against  one  another  in  ubiquitous  conflict. 

We  have  now  to  consider  some  of  the  effects  of  this  cosmic  dual- 
ism. Collision  produces  deflection,  constraint,  and  transfer  of 
motion,  resulting  in  increased  intensive  activity  at  the  expense 
of  extensive  activity,  a  shortening  of  paths  and  circuits  with  a  mul- 
tiplication of  the  number  of  transits  or  revolutions ;  motion  of  trans- 
lation is  converted  into  vibration,  and  molar  activity  into  molecular 
activity.  Everywhere  we  have  heightened  intensity,  increased 
energy,  and  more  work.  It  is  a  process  of  securing  constantly 
greater  and  greater  cosmic  efficiency. 

Next  as  to  the  form  that  this  concentrated  effort  of  nature  as- 
sumes. We  observe  that  in  the  realm  of  space  nebulae  appear. 
Then  these  nebulae  condense  and  assume  various  definite  forms, 
tending  toward  and  ultimately  attaining  a  close  approximation  to 
sphericity.  Condensation  continues  and  the  central  mass  becomes  a 
star,  i.e.,  a  sun.  If,  as  is  usual,  smaller  masses  fail  to  cohere  with 
the  principal  mass,  these  are  further  condensed  and  rolled  up  into 
balls  (planets)  that  revolve  around  the  contracting  and  receding 
central  mass.  Often  still  lesser  tertiary  masses  break  away  from 
the  secondary  ones  and  similarly  roll  up  and  revolve  about  the  latter 
as  satellites.  The  whole  now  forms  a  system  and  clings  together 
under  the  influence  of  the  same  antagonistic  forces  that  presided 
over  its  inception  and  its  entire  history.  There  is  no  department  of 
nature  from  which  the  truth  comes  forth  more  clearly  that  the 
normal  and  necessary  effect  of  the  cosmic  struggle  is  organization. 

But  these  great  orbs  of  space  consist  wholly  of  the  same  infinitely 


174  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

minute  particles  that  first  existed  in  a  diffused  and  discrete  condi- 
tion before  even  the  nebulae  were  formed.  In  this  molecular  world 
the  same  law  obtains  as  in  the  molar  universe.  Chemistry  teaches 
that  there  are  molecular  systems  also,  and  to  all  appearances  these 
are  as  symmetrical  as  world  systems  and  are  held  together  and  kept 
in  motion  by  the  interaction  of  antithetical  forces  differing  scarcely 
except  in  degree  from  planetary  forces.  Chemical  atoms  themselves 
are  doubtless  such  systems,  and  the  more  and  more  complex  mole- 
cules of  inorganic  and  organic  chemistry  simply  represent  so  many 
degrees  of  chemical  organization  as  the  effect  of  the  same  law,  while 
aggregations  of  these  atoms  and  molecules  constitute  the  manifold 
substances,  minerals,  rocks,  fluids,  and  gases,  that  make  up  the 
planet.  All  these  substances  are  theaters  of  intense  internal  activity. 
This  molecular  activity  has  resulted  from  the  condensation  of 
formerly  free  particles  flying  through  space.  Forced  into  relatively 
contracted  portions  of  space  they  retained  their  original  quantity  of 
motion.  Their  mode  of  motion  was  changed,  their  paths,  or  orbits, 
or  circuits  were  reduced,  and  they  were  compelled  to  expend  the 
whole  <5¥  their  original,  inherent,  and  unalterable  sum  of  activity 
within  exceedingly  minute  areas.  The  whole  of  this  reduction  in 
the  space  had  to  be  made  up  by  increase  in  intensity.  The  quantity 
of  motion  was  converted  into  force,  the  force  into  energy,  and  the 
energy  into  power.  This  compromise  among  the  contending  forces 
of  nature  was  effected  through  organization  and  the  formation  of 
chemical  systems,  which  are  so  many  reservoirs  of  power,  this  power 
being  represented  by  what  we  call  the  properties  of  matter.  These 
systems  store  up  energy  and  expend  it  in  work,  but  the  work  is 
always  a  collaboration  or  cooperation  of  all  the  competing  forces 
involved.  It  is  synergy. 

Passing  to  the  organic  world  we  find  new  forces  that  have  entered 
the  lists  and  are  participating  in  the  contest.  The  vital  and  psychic 
forces  whose  genesis  we  have  been  studying  are  now  at  work,  and 
we  have  a  corresponding  change  in  the  character  of  the  products. 
The  kind  of  systems  that  result  from  the  struggle  on  this  plane  are 
organic  beings,  or  organisms.  These,  too,  are  symmetrical  bodies, 
and  the  character  of  the  process  as  one  of  organization  becomes  still 
more  apparent.  But  the  bodies  of  organisms  consist  of  structures, 
and  here  we  see  more  clearly  than  in  the  previous  cases  that  the  final 
result  of  synergy  is  construction.  Solar  systems,  stars,  planets,  and 


CH.  x]  COSMIC    DUALISM  175 

satellites  are  also  structures,  and  so,  too,  are  chemical  units  of  what- 
ever order.  The  constructive  process  inheres  in  all  forms  of  synergy, 
and  the  cooperation  of  antithetical  forces  in  nature  always  results  in 
making,  that  is,  in  creating  something  that  did  not  exist  before. 
But  in  the  organic  world  this  character  of  structure  becomes  the 
leading  feature,  and  we  have  synthetic  products  consisting  of  tissues 
and  organs  serving  definite  purposes,  which  we  call  functions. 

Finally,  in  the  social  world,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  we  have  the 
same  principle  at  work  accomplishing  results  not  generically  dis- 
tinct from  those  accomplished  on  the  three  planes  of  activity  thus 
far  considered.  We  shall  find  that  it  is  also  a  theater  of  intense 
activity,  and  that  competing  and  antagonistic  agencies  are  fiercely 
contending  for  the  mastery.  The  complete  domination  of  any  one 
set  of  these  forces  would  prevent  the  formation  of  society.  If 
such  a  hegemony  were  to  supervene  at  any  given  stage  it  would 
sweep  society  out  of  existence.  Here  as  everywhere  any  single 
force,  acting  without  opposition  or  deflection,  would  be  destructive 
of  all  the  order  attained.  Only  through  the  joint  action  of  many 
forces,  each  striving  for  the  mastery  but  checked  and  constrained 
by  the  rest  and  forced  to  yield  its  share  in  conforming  to  the 
general  principle,  can  any  structure  result.  And  we  shall  see  that 
this  is  what  is  taking  place  in  society,  that  society  was  itself  thus 
created,  and  that  social  structures  were  thus  formed  which  are  as 
real,  as  definite,  and  as  symmetrical  as  are  biotic,  chemic,  or  cosmic 
structures. 

In  the  above  sketches  I  have  only  sought  to  set  forth  the  true 
nature  of  the  universal  principle  of  synergy  pervading  all  nature 
and  creating  all  the  different  kinds  of  structure  that  we  observe  to 
exist.  While  it  is  the  same  synthetic  creation  that  was  described 
in  Chapter  V,  we  are  enabled  now  to  look  deeper  into  it  and  perceive 
the  principle  through  which  it  works.  Primarily  and  essentially  it 
is  a  process  of  equilibration,  i.e.,  the  several  forces  are  first  brought 
into  a  state  of  partial  equilibrium.  It  begins  in  collision,  conflict, 
antagonism,  and  opposition,  but  as  no  motion  can  be  lost  it  is 
transformed,  and  we  have  the  milder  phases  of  antithesis,  competi- 
tion, and  interaction,  passing  next  into  a  modus  vivendi,  or  com- 
promise, and  ending  in  collaboration  and  cooperation.  It  is  the 
cosmological  expression  of  the  Hegelian  trilogy  and  constitutes  the 
synthesis  of  all  the  antinomies  at  work.  Synergy  is  the  principle 


176  PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

that  explains  all  organization  and  creates  all  structures.  These 
products  of  cosmic  synergy  are  found  in  all  fields  of  phenomena. 
Celestial  structures  are  worlds  and  world  systems,  chemical  struc- 
tures are  atoms,  molecules,  and  substances,  biotic  structures  are 
protoplasm,  cells,  tissues,  organs,  and  organisms.  There  are  also 
psychic  structures  —  feelings,  emotions,  passions,  volitions,  percep- 
tions, cognitions,  memory,  imagination,  reason,  thought,  and  all  the 
acts  of  consciousness.  And  then  there  are  social  structures,  the 
nature  of  which  it  is  the  principal  object  of  this  chapter  to  explain. 
These  are  the  products  of  the  social  forces  acting  under  the  prin- 
ciple of  social  synergy. 

Artificial  Structures.  —  What  has  been  said  thus  far  is  scarcely 
more  than  a  statement  of  facts.  It  fails  to  convey  an  idea  of  the 
exact  nature  of  the  principle  of  synergy.  In  seeking  to  do  this  we 
may  perhaps  be  aided  by  an  anthropomorphic  conception.  Just 
as  the  primitive  man  can  only  understand  natural  phenomena  by 
analogy  with  the  acts  of  men,  so  we  may  obtain  light  on  this 
natural  principle  by  examining  the  analogous  artificial  principle. 
A  mechanism  is  something  constructed.  It  may  therefore  be  called 
a  structure.  As  it  is  artificial,  it  is  an  artificial  structure,  and  we 
may  compare  artificial  structures  with  natural  structures.  The 
inventor  or  constructor  of  any  mechanism,  no  matter  how  simple, 
virtually  recognizes  the  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy.  He 
assumes  that  the  quantity  of  motion  is  unchangeable.  That  is,  he 
acts  on  the  theory  that  natural  forces  will  continue  to  act  no  matter 
what  disposition  he  may  make  of  his  materials.  He  has  no  idea  of 
the  possibility  of  increasing  or  diminishing  the  sum  total  of  force. 
But  he  also  recognizes  the  further  truth  that  the  particular  manner 
in  which  forces  act  is  indefinitely  variable,  i.e.,  that  the  direction, 
velocity,  etc.,  are  matters  of  indifference,  and  will  depend  upon 
the  amount  and  kind  of  resistance  with  which  bodies  meet.  In 
other  words,  while  he  realizes  that  the  quantity  of  motion  is  con- 
stant, he  perceives  that  the  mode  'of  motion  is  variable.  This 
enables  him  artificially  to  modify  natural  phenomena,  to  direct 
and  control  them.  The  one  universal  and  generic  method  of  arti- 
ficially modifying  the  spontaneous  course  of  natural  phenomena 
is  that  of  offering  some  kind  of  resistance.  When  a  man  dams 
a  stream  he  does  not  expect  to  stop  the  stream  from  flowing  on. 
He  knows  that  the  water  will  continue  to  rise  behind  his  dam  till 


CH.  x]  ARTIFICIAL   STRUCTURES  177 

it  overflows  it,  and  will  then  continue  on  in  its  course  as  before. 
But  if  he  wants  nothing  but  a  pool  of  water  his  dam  secures  that, 
and  the  original  state  of  things  is  altered  to  that  extent.  Usually 
he  wants  something  more.  He  wants  the  water  to  fall  perpendicu- 
larly as  far  as  it  falls  by  the  original  inclination  of  its  bed  in 
flowing  considerable  distance.  He  therefore  constructs  above  his 
dam  another  channel  for  the  water  with  a  very  slight  incline,  and 
directs  the  water  into  it.  The  desired  "head"  is  thus  easily 
obtained  and  he  causes  the  same  force  to  act  in  a  different  way, 
far  more  effective  for  his  purpose.  He  has  controlled  a  natural 
force  to  his  own  advantage.  All  mechanisms  can  be  reduced  to 
terms  as  simple  as  these.  The  whole  principle  is  that  of  inter- 
posing barriers  to  the  natural  coiirse  of  phenomena  and  giving 
them  an  artificial  course.  But  what  is  implied  in  a  barrier,  in  this 
resistance?  Simply  the  production  of  a  temporary  or  a  partial 
equilibrium.  A  solid  material  substance  placed  in  the  path  of  a 
moving  body  arrests  it  and  there  is  temporary  equilibrium.  Open 
the  sluiceway  and  motion  is  resumed,  but  it  is  less  rapid  than 
before  because  held  by  a  material  channel  (ditch,  trough,  tube,  etc.) 
the  bed  of  which  is  nearly  level.  If  we  follow  the  water  to  the 
penstock  and  see  it  pour  into  this  until  it  is  full,  we  only  see 
further  barriers  to  its  normal  progress.  When  at  last  the  gate  at 
the  bottom  of  the  penstock  is  opened  and  the  weight  of  the  column 
forces  the  water  violently  against  the  paddles  of  a  properly  con- 
structed wheel,  we  only  see  a  higher  application  of  the  same  prin- 
ciple. The  most  important  of  these  applications  is  that  of  storage. 
As  already  remarked,  the  inventor  does  not  expect  to  destroy  the 
force.  He  wants  to  utilize  it,  and  in  no  way  can  he  so  effectually 
utilize  it  as  by  storing  it  until  he  wants  it  and  using  it  at  will. 
The  flume  stores  the  energy  of  the  water. 

Any  other  use  by  man  of  natural  forces  would  have  served  the 
purpose  as  well  as  the  one  selected.  The  steam  engine,  with  its 
boiler,  pipes,  cylinders,  etc.,  is  a  complicated  mechanism  for  confin- 
ing steam  and  using  it  at  will.  The  resistance  of  the  boiler  equili- 
brates the  steam  till  the  cocks  are  opened.  The  piston  produces  a 
partial  resistance  and  brings  out  the  energy  of  the  steam  which 
forces  it  to  move  and  drive  the  machinery.  Everywhere  there  are 
checks  and  balances.  It  is  an  artificially  contrived  struggle  between 
the  force  of  the  steam  and  the  resistance  of  the  apparatus,  through 


178  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

which  the  former  is  compelled  to  do  work.  It  is  a  sort  of  synergy. 
Electrical  motors  would  illustrate  the  subject  equally  well.  But  here 
we  have  in  the  storage  battery  the  most  complete  example  of  the 
application  of  a  somewhat  permanent  equilibrium,  capable  of  being 
disturbed  at  will  for  the  utilization  of  the  force.  Another  impor- 
tant application  is  that  of  gearing  up  machinery.  Large  wheels  are 
connected  by  belts  or  cogs  with  small  ones  to  secure  more  rapid 
rotation.  In  this  way  greater  intensity  is  secured.  The  analogues 
of  all  these  principles  are  to  be  found  in  the  operations  of  nature 
unaided  by  intelligence. 

Organic  Structures.  —  While  all  the  synthetic  creations  of  nature 
and  all  the  products  and  differential  attributes  treated  in  Chapter  V 
are  illustrations  of  the  natural  storage  of  energy,  and  have  been 
evolved  under  the  law  of  creative  synthesis  and  through  the  princi- 
ple of  cosmic  synergy,  organic  structures,  worked  out  through  the 
combined  action  of  chemism,  zoism,  and  psychism,  furnish  more  of 
the  elements  that  the  sociologist  must  use,  and  are  essential  to  his 
work.  It  is  here  that  we  see  more  clearly  than  on  any  lower  plane 
the  true  nature  of  organization.  For  here  we  have  true  organs,  and 
all  the  structures  more  or  less  fully  integrated. 

In  the  organic  world  the  primary  contending  forces  are  those  of 
heredity  and  variation.  These  correspond  to  the  centripetal  and 
centrifugal  forces  in  astronomy.  Heredity  may  be  regarded  as  that 
tendency  in  life  to  continue  in  existence  whatever  has  been  brought 
into  existence.  All  forces  are  essentially  alike  and  the  life  force  or 
growth  force  is  like  any  physical  force.  That  is,  it  obeys  the  first 
law  of  motion  and  causes  motion  in  a  straight  line  unless  deflected 
by  another  force.  This,  if  allowed  to  go  on  uninfluenced,  would 
simply  result  in  perpetually  increasing  the  quantity  of  life  without 
affecting  its  quality.  But  in  the  domain  of  vital  force,  as  in  that  of 
physical  force,  in  consequence  of  the  multiplicity  of  objects  in 
nature,  there  is  necessarily  constant  collision,  constant  opposition, 
constant  contact  with  other  forces  from  all  conceivable  directions. 
These  constitute  the  resistance  of  the  environment.  Heredity  pushes 
through  all  this  as  best  it  can,  striving  to  pursue  the  straight  path  on 
which  it  started,  but  as  it  is  only  one  of  the  many  forces  involved 
in  the  contest,  it  obeys  all  the  other  laws  of  motion  and  is  checked, 
deflected,  shunted,  buffeted  this  way  and  that,  and  compelled  to 
pursue  a  very  irregular  path.  We  saw  that  under  the  principle  of 


CH.  x]  ORGANIC   STRUCTURES  179 

cosmic  synergy  the  primary  cosmic  force  which  impels  the  matter 
of  universal  space,  similarly  colliding  and  contending,  ultimately 
assumed  an  organized  form  and  elaborated  the  matter  of  space  into 
symmetrical  bodies  coordinated  into  systems.  In  like  manner  the 
vital  force  subjected  to  all  these  counter-forces,  stresses,  and  strains, 
began  at  the  outset  to  elaborate  symmetrical  forms  and  to  organize 
biological  systems.  The  organic  world  —  protists,  plants,  animals 
—  was  the  result. 

This  biological  dualism  struck  the  early  students  of  organic  nature 
and  has  been  repeatedly  described  and  abundantly  illustrated  in  all 
the  great  philosophical  works.  The  synthetic  mind  of  Goethe 
clearly  grasped  it,  and  he  discussed  it  at  length  in  his  "  Metamor- 
phosis of  Plants  "  (1790),  and  earlier  in  his  "  Morphology  "  (1786), 
but  especially  in  his  somewhat  later  miscellaneous  writings.  He 
recognized  the  analogy  of  these  biologic  forces  to  the  centrifugal 
and  centripetal  forces  in  astronomy.  In  one  of  his  short  papers  on 
Natural  Science  in  General  which  bears  date  March  17,  1823,  he 
says :  — 

The  idea  of  metamorphosis  is  a  most  noble,  but  at  the  same  time  very 
dangerous  gift  from  on  high.  It  leads  back  to  the  formless  state,  destroys 
and  dissipates  knowledge.  It  is  like  the  vis  centrifuga  and  would  lose  itself 
in  the  infinite  were  there  not  something  to  counteract  it :  I  mean  the  spe- 
cific force,  the  stubborn  power  of  permanence  of  whatever  has  attained 
reality,  a  vis  centripeta,  which  in  its  fundamental  nature  no  outside  power 
can  affect.1 

Goethe's  metamorphosis  is  of  course  what  is  now  called  the  trans- 
mutation of  species,  and  his  specific  impulse  is  heredity,  which 
tends  to  maintain  the  fixity  of  species,  and  was  long  supposed  to  do 
so  absolutely.  The  vis  centrifuga  corresponds  to  the  impinging 
forces  of  the  environment  causing  constant  deviation  from  the  spe- 
cific type,  i.e.,  variation.  The  organism  must  conform  to  the  mold 

1  "  Die  Idee  der  Metamorphose  ist  eine  hochst  ehrwurdige,  aber  zugleich  hochst 
gefahrliche  Gabe  von  oben.  Sie  fiihrt  ins  formlose,  zerstort  das  Wissen,  lost  es  auf. 
Sie  ist  gleich  der  vis  centrifuga  und  wiirde  sich  ins  Unendliche  verlieren,  ware  ihr 
nicht  ein  Gegengewicht  zugegeben :  ich  meine  den  Specificationstrieb,  das  zahe 
Beharrlichkeitsvermogen  dessen,  was  einraal  zur  Wirklichkeit  gekommen,  eine  vis 
centripeta,  welcher  in  ihrem  tiefsten  Grunde  keine  Aeusserlichkeit  etwas  anhaben 
kann."  Goethes  sammtliche  Werke  in  dreissig  Banden.  Vollstandig  neugeordnete 
Ausgabe,  Stuttgart  und  Tubingen,  Vol.  XXIX,  pp.  350-351.  (This  passage  occurs 
under  the  subtitle  "  Probleme"  of  the  heading  "Problem  und  Erwiederung,"  dated 
"  Weimar  den  17  Marz  1823,"  in  the  collection  of  essays  entitled  "  Zur  Naturwissen- 
schaft  im  Allgeinehien,"  which  is  put  at  the  end  of  this  volume  in  the  edition  cited). 


180  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

established  for  it  by  its  environment,  which  requires  modification 
in  the  specific  type.  The  process  of  compelling  the  organism  to 
undergo  these  transformations  and  secure  this  conformity  is  what 
in  modern  biological  language  is  called  adaptation.  .But  as  the 
environment  is  infinitely  varied  and  the  number  of  possible  condi- 
tions to  which  organisms  may  be  adapted  is  infinite,  the  effect  is 
to  differentiate  the  one  original  hypothetical  form  which  heredity 
would  perpetuate  unchanged  into  an  unlimited  number  of  different 
forms.  The  resistance  of  the  environment,  therefore,  so  far  from 
offering  an  obstacle  to  life,  is  of  the  highest  advantage,  and  has 
made  the  existing  multiplicity  of  organic  forms  possible.  All  of 
which  brings  clearly  to  view  the  extraordinary  creative  and  con- 
structive character  of  organic  synergy. 

But  this  is  not  all  of  biological  statics.  Lamarck  and  Darwin 
showed  that  there  is  going  on  in  the  organic  world  a  perpetual 
struggle  for  existence.  We  have  here  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Lamarckian  principle  of  exercise  or  the  Darwinian  principle  of 
natural  selection,  which  are  both  dynamic  principles,  but  Mr.  Her- 
bert Spencer,  in  his  profound  analysis  of  organic  phenomena  in  the 
first  volume  of  his  "  Principles  of  Biology,"  has  shown  that  there  is 
involved  on  a  vast  scale  a  true  process  of  equilibration,  which 
belongs  to  biological  statics  and  constitutes  its  true  foundation.  In 
Spencer's  direct  and  indirect  equilibration,  which  are  the  statical 
equivalents  of  the  two  dynamic  principles  above  named,  we  have 
the  mechanical  philosophy  of  organic  life.  Involved  in  it  is  the 
geographical  distribution  of  plants  and  animals  and  their  adaptation 
to  environment.  The  ordinary  treatment  of  geographical  distribu- 
tion is  very  unsatisfactory.  The  attempt  to  establish  floral  and 
faunal  zones  is  never  wholly  successful  on  account  of  the  constant 
commingling  of  species.  But  the  study  of  the  habitat  of  particular 
species  and  the  causes  that  circumscribe  it  leads  to  exact  results.  I 
published  such  a  study  in  botanical  statics  in  1876,1  and  since  then 
I  have  accumulated  a  large  number  of  additional  facts  from  which 
a  volume  might  be  written. 

Structure  versus  Function.  —  It  is  in  the  organic  world  that  we 
can  best  begin  the  study  of  function.  It  is  true  that  every  artificial 
structure  also  has  its  function.  The  function  is  the  end  for  which 

1  "  The  Local  Distribution  of  Plants  and  the  Theory  of  Adaptation,"  Popular  Si-i- 
ence  Monthly,  New  York,  Vol.  IX,  October,  1876,  pp.  676-C84. 


en.  x]  STRUCTURE  VERSUS  FUNCTION  181 

a  mechanism  is  constructed.  It  is  that  which  it  is  made  to  do. 
The  function  of  a  watch  is  to  keep  time,  of  a  locomotive  to  draw 
trains,  of  a  storage  battery  to  propel  machinery,  etc.  But  for  the 
function  the  structure  would  be  worthless.  It  is  not  otherwise  with 
organic  structures.  The  structures  are  only  means.  Function  is 
the  end.  The  study  of  structures  is  called  anatomy,  that  of  func- 
tion, physiology.  But  the  two  are  of  course  intimately  bound  up 
together  and  can  only  be  separated  in  thought.  In  fact,  all  natural 
structures  are  developed  along  with  their  functions,  which  may  be 
regarded  in  a  sense  as  the  cause  of  the  structures.  The  effort  of 
nature  to  accomplish  its  ends  results  in  material  means  capable  of 
accomplishing  them,  and  such  means  are  structures.  The  function 
then  becomes  the  particular  way  in  which  the  structures  are  utilized 
in  the  accomplishment  of  these  ends.  In  mathematical  language, 
where  the  word  function  is  used  in  much  the  same  sense,  organic 
function  may  be  regarded  as  the  dependent  variable,  and  organic 
structure  as  the  independent  variable.  In  biology  and  all  the  higher 
sciences  the  dependent  variable  is  what  the  independent  variable  is 
for.  In  mathematics  neither  can  be  said  to  have  any  purpose. 

Such  being  the  relations  of  structure  and  function,  and  all  con- 
siderations of  structure  being  statical,  it  is  evident  that  all  consid- 
erations of  function  must  also  be  statical.  The  functions  of  nutrition 
and  reproduction  go  on  during  the  entire  life  of  an  organism  without 
producing  any  organic  change  of  structure.  All  the  physiological 
processes  —  digestion,  assimilation,  circulation,  secretion,  excretion, 
respiration,  sensation,  mentation  —  take  place  throughout  the  life  of 
an  organism  of  whatever  grade  without  causing  any  modification  in 
the  tissues  and  organs  by  which  they  are  performed.  This  may  go 
on  through  hundreds  and  thousands  of  generations  and  through  vast 
geological  periods.  In  fact  unless  something  besides  the  simple  and 
normal  performance  of  function  takes  place  there  will  never  be  any 
organic  change.  Function  simply  as  such,  has  no  effect  whatever  in 
modifying  structure.  Plain  and  self-evident  as  all  this  seems,  it  is 
astonishing  that  so  many  sociologists  basing  the  science  of  sociology 
upon  biology  should  have  conceived  the  idea  that,  while  anatomy  is 
a  statical  science,  physiology  is  dynamic.1  This  confusion  of  thought 

1 1  made  a  partial  enumeration  of  the  sociologists  taking  this  view,  in  my  paper 
on  "  La  Mecanique  Sociale,"  read  at  the  Congres  de  1'Institut  International  de  Soci- 
ologie  in  Paris  in  1900.  See  the  Annales  de  1'Institut,  Vol.  VII,  p.  182. 


182  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

must  be  ascribed  in  part  to  the  failure  to  analyze  the  phenomena  of 
structure  and  function,  but  still  more  to  the  utter  chaos  that  reigns 
among  sociologists  as  to  what  constitutes  statics  and  dynamics  in 
the  concrete  sciences. 

Not  only  are  nutrition,  reproduction,  and  all  the  so-called  vegeta- 
tive functions,  statical,  where  they  simply  preserve  the  life  of  the 
individual  and  of  the  species,  but  they  do  not  cease  to  be  statical 
when  by  excess  of  function  they  increase  the  quantity  of  life  through 
growth  and  multiplication  of  the  same  unaltered  types  of  structure. 
Size  and  number  do  not  alter  the  conditions  in  this  respect.  There 
are  some  animals  whose  size  seems  to  depend  mainly  on  age  and 
environment.  This  is  notably  the  case  with  certain  fishes.  When 
a  boy  I  used  to  fish  around  an  old  mill  pond.  Among  other  fishes  it 
contained  many  pickerels  which  I  learned  to  catch,  although  they 
would  not  take  the  hook.  They  were  from  six  inches  to  a  foot  in 
length,  but  sometimes,  when  I  would  venture  some  distance  into  the 
pond  among  the  drift  wood  and  aquatic  vegetation,  a  huge  crea- 
ture that  I  had  taken  for  a  log  would  surge  out  and  dart  away  into 
the  deep  water.  I  finally  discovered  that  these  were  immense  pick- 
erels which,  unable  to  escape  from  the  pond,  and  well  supplied  with 
food  (smaller  fish),  had  grown  old  and  attained  such  a  great  size. 
Later,  when  the  pond  was  drained,  a  hundred  or  more  of  these  fishes, 
many  four  feet  in  length  and  nearly  a  foot  in  diameter,  were  secured. 
There  were  also  all  intermediate  sizes,  clearly  showing  that  they 
belonged  to  the  same  species  that  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spear- 
ing. This  was  simply  a  case  of  overgrowth  under  favorable  condi- 
tions, and  involved  no  dynamic  principle.  It  is  the  same  when  from 
abundance  of  food  and  absence  of  enemies  a  species  multiplies  and 
attains  enormous  numbers,  as  in  the  swarms  of  locusts,  the  clouds  of 
pigeons,  or  the  droves  of  lemmings  that  occasionally  appear.  All 
this  is  still  within  the  limits  of  biological  statics. 

We  may  even  go  further  and  maintain  that  simple  perfectionment 
of  structure  is  statical  so  long  as  it  does  not  involve  the  least  change 
in  the  nature  of  the  structure.  Here  the  distinction  becomes  fine, 
but  it  can  be  successfully  maintained  by  noting  in  any  given  case 
whether  the  principle  on  which  the  structure  works  is  or  is  not 
altered.  To  illustrate  in  the  case  of  artificial  structures  or  mech- 
anisms, as,  for  example,  inventions.  If  a  man  were  to  invent  a  ma- 
chine and  make  a  rough  model,  too  imperfect  to  work,  he  might 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   STRUCTURES  183 

obtain  a  patent.  In  such  a  case  if  another  man  were  to  present  a 
model  of  the  same  machine  but  much  more  exactly  made,  so  that  the 
model  itself  would  work,  he  could  not  obtain  a  patent  for  an  im- 
provement simply  on  the  ground  that  his  model  was  better  made. 
There  must  be  some  change  in  the  principle,  however  slight,  to  entitle 
him  to  a  patent  for  an  improvement.  It  is  precisely  this  distinction 
that  separates  the  dynamic  from  the  statical,  whether  in  artificial  or 
natural  structures. 

Social  Structures.  —  Passing  over  psychic  structures  which  have 
already  been  enumerated  and  the  subjective  ones  fully  treated,  we 
come  to  social  structures,  for  the  better  understanding  of  which  only, 
other  structures  have  been  considered.  But  having  fully  grasped 
the  general  principle  on  which  all  structures  whatever  are  formed, 
it  is  easy  to  pass  from  organic  to  social  structures.  The  principle  is 
the  same  and  the  only  difference  is  in  the  forces.  Social  structures 
are  the  products  of  social  synergy,  i.e.,  of  the  interaction  of  different 
social  forces,  all  of  which,  in  and  of  themselves,  are  destructive,  but 
whose  combined  effect,  mutually  checking,  constraining,  and  equili- 
brating one  another,  is  to  produce  structures.  The  entire  drift  is 
toward  economy,  conservatism,  and  the  prevention  of  waste.  Still, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  social  statics  deals  with  stagnant  socie- 
ties. A  static  condition  is  to  be  sharply  distinguished  from  a 
stationary  condition.  Failure  to  make  this  distinction  is  due  to 
what  I  have  called  the  fallacy  of  the  stationary.  Social  structures 
are  genetic  mechanisms  for  the  production  of  results  and  the  results 
cannot  be  secured  without  them.  They  are  reservoirs  of  power.  A 
dynamo  generates  electricity  from  the  electrical  conditions  that  sur- 
round it.  Those  conditions  were  there  before  the  dynamo  was  built, 
but  they  produced  none  of  the  effects  that  the  dynamo  produces. 
They  may  be  described  as  so  much  power  running  to  waste.  The 
dynamo  simply  saves  and  husbands  this  power  for  man's  use.  It  is 
exactly  the  same  with  every  true  natural  structure.  Before  the  dam 
was  built  the  same  quantity  of  water  coursed  through  the  area  after- 
wards occupied  by  the  mill  pond.  It  had  the  same  weight,  i.e., 
power,  before  as  after,  but  it  did  no  useful  work.  By  means  of  the 
dam,  the  race,  the  flume,  the  wheel,  the  mill,  it  is  utilized  and  made 
to  do  the  work  required  of  it.  The  water  in  that  pond  is,  as  it  were, 
charged  with  power.  The  same  water  occupying  a  basin  without  an 
outlet  would  soon  become  stagnant,  and  instead  of  doing  good  would 


184  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

be  doing  harm  by  exhaling  miasma.  The  distinction  between  a  mill 
pond  and  a  stagnant  pool  is  precisely  the  distinction  between  a  static 
and  a  stationary  condition  in  anything  whatever  —  between,  for 
example,  an  organized  and  thrifty  society  and  a  stagnant  society. 
Social  statics  deals  with  social  organization. 

Social  equilibration  under  the  principle  of  social  synergy,  while  it 
involves  a  perpetual  and  vigorous  struggle  among  the  antagonistic 
social  forces,  still  works  out  social  structures  and  conserves  them, 
and  these  structures  perform  their  prescribed  functions.  Upon  the 
perfection  of  these  structures  and  the  consequent  success  with  which 
they  perform  their  functions  depends  the  degree  of  social  efficiency. 
In  the  organic  world  the  struggle  has  the  appearance  of  a  struggle 
for  existence.  The  weaker  species  go  to  the  wall  and  the  stronger 
persist.  There  is  a  constant  elimination  of  the  defective  and  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest.  On  the  social  plane  it  is  the  same,  and  weak 
races  succumb  in  the  struggle  while  strong  races  persist.  But  in 
both  cases  it  is  the  best  structures  that  survive.  The  struggle  is 
therefore  raised  above  the  question  of  individuals  or  even  of  species, 
races,  and  societies,  and  becomes  a  question  of  the  fittest  structures. 
We  may  therefore  qualify  Darwin's  severe  formula  of  the  struggle 
for  existence  and  look  upon  the  whole  panorama  rather  as  a  struggle 
for  structure. 

THE  SOCIAL  ORDER 

The  social  mechanism  taken  as  a  whole  constitutes  the  social 
order.  Order  is  the  product  of  organization.  Social  synergy,  like 
all  other  forms  of  synergy,  is  essentially  constructive.  Social  statics 
may  therefore  be  called  constructive  sociology.  Without  structure, 
organization,  order,  no  efficient  work  can  be  performed.  Organiza- 
tion #s  it  develops  to  higher  and  higher  grades  simply  increases  the 
working  efficiency  of  society.  To  see  how  this  takes  place  we  have 
only  to  contrast  the  efficiency  of  an  army  with  that  of  a  mob,  assum- 
ing that  both  are  striving  to  accomplish  the  same  object.  Social  statics 
is  that  subdivision  of  social  mechanics,  or  that  branch  of  sociology, 
which  deals  with  the  social  order.  The  social  order,  in  this  respect 
like  an  organism,  is  made  up  of  social  structures,  and  is  complete  in 
proportion  as  those  structures  are  integrated,  while  it  is  high  in  pro- 
portion as  those  structures  are  differentiated  and  multiplied  and  still 
perfectly  integrated,  or  reduced  to  a  completely  subordinated  and 


CH.  xl  HUMAN   INSTITUTIONS  185 

coordinated  system.  This  branch  of  sociology  will  therefore  deal 
chiefly  with  social  structures  and  their  functions,  with  their  origin 
and  nature,  their  relations  of  subordination  and  coordination,  and 
with  the  final  product  of  the  entire  process  which  is  society  itself. 
But  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  we  can  constantly  adhere  to  the 
biological  terminology  which  we  have  thus  far  used,  nor  is  it  desira- 
ble to  do  so.  The  object  in  its  use  in  a  strictly  genetic  treatment 
like  the  present  is  not  to  lose  sight  for  a  moment  of  the  great  unity 
that  pervades  all  science.  But  sociology  should  have  a  terminology 
of  its  own,  and  such,  in  fact,  it  already  has. 

Human  Institutions.  —  The  most  general  and  appropriate  name  for 
social  structures  is  human  institutions.  The  adjective  "  human  "  is 
really  not  necessary,  however,  since  it  cannot  be  with  propriety  said 
that  animal  societies  (and  this  itself  is  a  metaphorical  expression) 
consist  of,  or,  indeed,  possess  institutions.  It  should  be  stated  at 
the  outset  that  structures  are  not  necessarily  material  objects.  None 
of  the  psychic  structures  are  such,  and  social  structures  may  or  may 
not  be  material.  Human  institutions  are  all  the  means  that  have 
come  into  existence  for  the  control  and  utilization  of  the  social 
energy.  Already  in  Chapter  V,  when  searching  for  the  true  nature 
and  essence  of  the  social  energy,  we  were  called  upon  to  deal  with 
that  most  fundamental  of  all  human  institutions,  that  primordial, 
homogeneous,  undifferentiated  social  plasma  out  of  which  all  institu- 
tions subsequently  developed,  and  which  has  been  so  far  overlooked  by 
students  of  society  that  it  is  even  without  a  name.  We  ventured  to 
call  it  the  group  sentiment  of  safety,  and  showed  that  its  nearest  rela- 
tions to  any  human  institution  that  has  been  named  are  to  religion. 
Out  of  it  have  certainly  emerged  one  after  another  religion,  law, 
morals  (in  its  primitive  and  proper  sense  based  on  mos,  or  custom), 
and  all  ceremonial,  ecclesiastical,  juridical,  and  political  institutions. 
But  there  are  other  human  institutions  almost  as  primitive  and 
essential,  such  as  language,  art,  and  industry,  that  may  have  a  differ- 
ent root,  while  the  phylogeny  of  thousands  of  the  later  derivative 
institutions  may  still  be  difficult  to  trace.  This  great  phylogenetic 
study  of  society  will  one  day  become  a  prominent  department  of 
sociology,  even  as  organic  phylogeny  has  so  recently  become  a  recog- 
nized branch  of  biology. 

A  closer  examination  of  human  institutions  reveals  the  fact  that 
they  are  not  all  quite  alike  even  in  their  general  character.  They 


186  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

may  be  divided  into  two  or  three  groups  or  classes.  We  have 
already  seen  that  some  are  material  and  others  immaterial,  but  even 
this  is  not  as  fundamental  or  as  essential  a  classification  as  another 
which  is,  indeed,  akin  to  it,  but  still  does  not  strictly  follow  the 
same  lines.  It  is  more  difficult  to  define  than  it  is  to  perceive  in  the 
best  examples.  It  might  be  called  the  distinction  between  natural 
and  artificial,  or  between  spontaneous  and  factitious  institutions, 
although  really  one  class  is  as  natural  as  the  other,  and  both  are 
partly  spontaneous  and  partly  factitious.  In  many  cases,  however, 
there  are  two  cognate  institutions,  one  of  which  belongs  to  one  class 
and  the  other  to  the  other.  In  such  cases  the  natural  or  spontaneous 
one  seems  older  or  more  primitive,  and  the  artificial  or  factitious  one 
is  in  a  sense  an  outgrowth  from  the  first.  The  one  class  might  there- 
fore be  called  primary  and  the  other  secondary.  From  still  another 
point  of  view  the  secondary  institutions  may  be  regraded  as  products 
or  functions  of  the  primary  ones.  A  few  examples  will  show  both 
the  real  distinction  between  these  classes  and  also  the  difficulty 
in  finding  terms  capable  of  clearly  characterizing  the  distinction. 

If,  for  example,  we  take  the  institution  of  marriage,  giving  the 
term  all  the  breadth  necessary  to  embrace  all  stages  of  human  devel- 
opment—  the  customary  relations  of  the  sexes  —  we  perceive  that 
there  grows  out  of  it  or  depends  upon  it  the  institution  called  the 
family,  by  which  we  need  not,  any  more  than  in  the  case  of  marriage, 
understand  any  of  the  developed  forms,  but  simply  the  customary 
way  of  raising  children  and  the  relations  among  kindred  generally. 

If  we  consider  religion  as  an  institution,  even  the  simple  form  of 
it  which  I  have  called  the  group  sentiment  of  safety,  we  shall  see 
that  out  of  it  there  grew  a  system  of  enforcing  conduct  conducive  to 
race  safety  and  of  punishing  conduct  opposed  to  race  safety.  This 
is  called  religion,  too,  and  indeed  superficial  observers  do  not  see  that 
there  .is  anything  behind  it  and  consider  it  all  of  religion  among 
primitive  peoples.  But  in  reality  it  is  the  beginning  of  both  cere- 
monial and  ecclesiastical  institutions  as  defined  by  Spencer.  In  its 
later  aspects  it  becomes  the  church,  and  just  as  Spencer  expands  the 
term  ecclesiastical  to  cover  these  early  forms,  so  we  may  expand 
the  word  church  still  farther  until  it  becomes  correct  and  intelligible 
to  say  that  the  church  is  that  secondary  or  derivative  institution 
which  religion,  as  a  primary  and  original  institution,  made  necessary 
and  virtually  created. 


CH.X]  HUMAN   INSTITUTIONS  187 

Let  us  next  take  law,  which,  as  Mr.  Kobertson  suggested  (see 
supra,  p.  134),  is  closely  allied  to  religion,  or  is  at  least  a  branch 
coordinate  with  the  latter  of  the  still  earlier  and  as  yet  wholly  un- 
differentiated  group  sentiment  of  safety  or  social  imperative.  Law 
in  its  simplest  expression  is  merely  a  sentiment  like  religion.  It 
may  be  called  the  sense  of  order  in  society.  But  out  of  it  grew 
or  developed  the  whole  system  of  jurisprudence,  which  is  therefore 
a  derivative  institution,  and  law  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  court 
that  religion  bears  to  the  church. 

Morality  in  its  earliest  stages  was  also  a  branch  of  the  homogene- 
ous social  plasm  described,  and  was  coordinate  with  religion  and  law. 
At  their  base  all  these  three  are  perfectly  blended  and  inseparable. 
There  was  very  little  altruism  in  primitive  morality.  There  was  the 
parental  instinct  that  exists  in  animals,  and  there  soon  came  to  be 
an  attachment  to  kindred  generally,  which  can  scarcely  be  detected 
below  the  human  plane.  Still  later,  as  kindred  became  the  group, 
the  attachment  became  coextensive  with  the  group,  but  did  not  ex- 
tend to  other  groups,  although  these  may  have  been  merely  offshoots 
from  the  same  group,  broken  away  when  the  group  grew  too  large 
to  hold  together.  Still  later  when  the  primitive  hordes  combined  to 
form  clans  there  was  more  or  less  attachment  among  all  the  members 
of  the  clan,  and  the  sentiment  expanded  pari  passu  with  the  expand- 
ing group  until  the  end  of  the  primitive  peaceful  stage  of  social 
development.  But  it  was  always  a  blood  bond,  and  the  sole  basis  of 
adhesion  was  that  of  real  or  fictitious  kinship.  In  fact  this  "  ethical 
dualism,"  as  Dr.  Edward  A.  Ross  has  so  happily  styled  it,1  lasted 
much  longer,  and  will  not  have  entirely  disappeared  until  all  race 
prejudices  and  national  animosities  shall  cease.  But  morality  within 
these  narrow  bounds,  the  germ  of  all  ethical  conceptions,  was  one  of 
the  primordial  human  institutions.  It  was  essentially  social,  and 
had  sociability  as  its  central  idea.  Comte's  "morale"  is  therefore 
the  true  scientific  and  historic  morality,  and  differs  widely  from  the 
ethics  of  Spencer  and  other  moralists.  Now  to  what  secondary  in- 
stitution, corresponding  to  the  church  and  the  court,  did  this  primary 
institution  give  rise  ?  Why,  to  the  moral  code,  to  be  sure.  The 
ethical  code  of  all  races,  peoples,  and  nations,  with  the  whole  mass  of 
rules,  precepts,  and  customs  that  attend  it,  constitutes  a  derivative 
and  factitious  institution,  growing  primarily  out  of  the  blood  bond, 
i "  Social  Control,"  p.  72. 


188  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Political  institutions  have  a  later  origin,  but  we  may  mention  as 
a  case  in  point  the  institution  of  government  in  the  abstract  as  the 
spontaneous  condition  which  required  and  ultimately  produced  the 
state.  As  this  will  soon  come  up  for  fuller  treatment  it  need  not  be 
more  than  noted  here  among  the  correlative  institutions. 

Language  is  among  the  earliest  of  human  institutions,  and  was 
certainly  spontaneous.  By  language  I  mean  the  power  of  rational 
intercommunication  which  is  an  exclusively  human  institution. 
The  science  of  language  in  this  sense  is  the  semantics  of  Breal.1  It 
is  much  broader  than  oral  speech,  and  includes  sign  and  gesture  lan- 
guage. It  is  probably  not  true,  however,  that  these  latter  preceded 
speech.  Most  animals  communicate  feelings  at  least  by  means  of 
sounds,  and  these  are  not  always  made  by  the  voice.  Voice  proper 
is  practically  confined  to.  vertebrates  and  chiefly  to  mammals.  The 
grammar  of  animals  contains  only  one  part  of  speech,  viz.,  the  inter- 
jection. This  was  probably  long  true  of  the  animal  that  finally 
became  man,  but  the  line  between  animal  and  man  coincides  very 
closely  with  that  which  marks  the  origin  of  the  noun.  Speechless 
man  (Alalus)  is  therefore  a  contradiction  of  terms.  Language  was 
a  product  of  intelligence  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  perfection 
of  the  vocal  organs.  It  would  be  easy  to  show  anatomically  that 
man  is  by  no  means  the  most  favored  animal  in  this  respect.  But 
without  a  certain  amount  of  intelligence  he  would  be  incapable  of 
language.  No  animal,  no  matter  how  perfect  its  vocal  organs,  could 
possess  language  without  this  minimum  of  rational  power.  Con- 
versely, any  animal  endowed  with  it  would  inevitably  develop  lan- 
guage, and  this  irrespective  of  its  anatomical  adaptation.  A 
Houyhnhnm  could  communicate  high-grade  ideas  with  the  form  of 
a  horse  and  the  mind  of  a  man,  while  a  Yahoo  with  the  form  of 
a  man  and  the  mind  of  a  monkey  could  never  do  anything  but 
chatter. 

To  what  extent  words  are  suggested  by  things  is  one  of  the  insolu- 
ble questions  of  philology,  but  the  general  outcome  of  the  volumi- 
nous discussion  of  this  question  is  that  this  influence  is  very  slight. 
Most  primitive  words  appear  to  be  wholly  arbitrary,  but  some  names 
of  things  that  consist  chiefly  in  sound  or  that  are  usually  associated 

1"  Une  Science  nouvelle,  La  Semantique,"  par  Michel  Breal.  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  Vol.  CXLI,  juin,  1897,  pp.  807-836.  Essai  de  Se'mantique."  Paris  (Hachette), 
1897.  "  Semantics:  Studies  in  the  Science  of  Meaning,"  by  Michel  Bre'al,  translated 
by  Mrs.  Henry  Gust,  London,  1900. 


CH.  x]  HUMAN   INSTITUTIONS  189 

with  sound  are  undoubtedly  onomatopoeic.  But  most  of  the  mimetic 
words  of  the  culture  languages  are  consciously  made  by  poets  and 
orators  who  see  beauty  and  force  in  their  use  and  intentionally  intro- 
duce them  for  rhetorical  effect.  The  question  remains  how  particular 
things  got  their  names,  and  this  is  an  equally  insoluble  question. 
Certain  it  is  that  for  different  linguistic  stocks  the  words  for  the 
same  thing  bear  no  resemblance  to  each  other.  If  this  were  the 
proper  place,  it  would,  however,  be  possible  or  even  easy,  to  show 
how  this  might  have  taken  place.  The  imperative  necessity  for 
some  medium  of  intercommunication  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
problem,  and  what  the  words  shall  be  that  are  to  signify  particular 
things  is  a  matter  of  complete  indifference.  No  word  of  the  most 
developed  language  will  bear  an  isolated  contemplation.  Single  out 
any  word,  as  man,  dog,  house,  and  rivet  the  mind  upon  its  mere 
sound  or  its  form  when  written,  and  it  will  soon  appear  absolutely 
absurd.1  But  things  must  have  names,  and  one  is  as  good  as  another 
if  it  only  means  some  particular  thing  to  all  who  have  to  do  with  it. 
This  being  the  case  the  most  trifling  circumstance  is  sufficient  to 
associate  it  with  a  given  sound,  and  the  instant  one  hears  another 
call  it  by  such  and  such  a  name  he  will  imitate  him  and  thus  imme- 
diately give  that  name  vogue.  I  can  illustrate  this  from  my  own 
experience  when  a  child  with  my  intense  desire  to  know  the  names 
of  such  things  as  flowers,  insects,  birds,  fish,  and  other  animals,  that 
my  companions  could  not  give  me  names  for.  If  I  met  any  one  who 
would  offer  a  name  I  would  instantly  seize  upon  it  and  never  let  it 
go.  I  cared  absolutely  nothing  what  the  name  should  be  if  it  was 
only  a  name.  Thus  I  learned  names  for  many  plants  that  I  never 
forgot,  some  of  which  subsequently  proved  to  be  wrong,  but  they 
served  their  purpose.  I  even  coined  names  from  analogy,  resem- 
blance, and  association,  which  my  brother  and  I  freely  used  and  by 
which  we  were  able  to  talk  about  such  plants.  These  names,  which 
I  never  forgot,  seemed  silly  and  stupid  enough  when,  as  a  botanist, 
I  learned  the  right  names  of  those  plants.  For  example,  some  one 
who  pretended  to  know,  told  me  that  the  painted  cup  was  the  sweet- 
william  and  I  thereafter  called  it  so.  A  yellow  flower  that  some- 
what resembled  it  except  in  color  and  for  which  no  one  had  ever 

1  Cf.  James,  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  80-81 ;  Tarde,  "  Lois  de 
1'Imitation,"  2«  ed.,  pp.  206-207  (footnote) ;  Gumplowicz,  "  Der  Rassenkampf,"  pp. 
108-109. 


190  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

suggested  a  name,  we  agreed  to  call  the  "  sweet-john."  It  proved  to 
be  the  yellow  puccoon.  Knowing  the  lady's-slipper,  we  named  the 
next  handsomest  flower  the  gentleman' s-slipper.  This  was  the 
Dodecatheon.  The  following  case  well  illustrates  the  arbitrary 
character  of  words  and  of  language  in  general :  A  gentleman  gave 
me  the  name  of  the  wild  American  cranesbill,  Geranium  maculatum, 
and  I  instantly  seized  upon  it  and  I  never  forgot  it.  But  a  boy  does  not 
scrutinize  plants.  He  only  cares  for  showy  flowers.  I  never  observed 
the  fruit  of  the  cranesbill.  I  do  not  remember  having  any  curiosity 
to  know  why  it  was  so  called.  All  I  wanted  was  a  name,  and  the 
question  of  the  propriety  of  the  name  never  rose  in  my  mind.  The 
plant  as  I  knew  it,  flowers  and  leaves,  had  nothing  about  it  to  sug- 
gest a  crane's  bill,  and  I  •  was  well  acquainted  with  the  sandhill 
crane  which  my  older  brothers  often  brought  in  and  which  I  fre- 
quently saw  in  flocks  high  in  air.  It  was  not  until  my  botanical 
days,  years  afterwards,  that  I  observed  the  beak-like  fruit.  There 
were  many  other  such  cases,  and  it  ended  by  our  having  a  name  for 
every  plant  and  animal  in  the  region  where  we  lived  which  we 
mutually  understood.  But  alas !  they  were  for  the  most  part  mean- 
ingless to  others.  Later  in  life  I  was  ashamed  of  these  childish 
freaks,  and  not  until  I  began  to  reflect  on  the  origin  of  language  did 
they  acquire  any  philosophical  significance.  I  can  now  see  how  the 
primitive  savage,  in  the  childhood  of  the  race,  must  have  blundered 
on  the  names  of  things  in  a  manner  not  widely  different  from  that 
of  a  child,  filled  with  curiosity  and  wonder  about  the  objects  of 
nature  that  appeal  to  his  senses. 

Just  as  the  grammar  of  animals  consists  wholly  of  interjections, 
so  the  earliest  human  speech  consisted  of  interjections  and  nouns. 
The  other  parts  of  speech,  all  of  which  indicate  relations,  came  later, 
and  the  verb  was  one  of  the  latest  to  appear.  It  was  at  first  pecu- 
liarly the  function  of  gestures  and  signs  to  indicate  relations,  so  that 
gesture  language  is  really  a  more  developed  form  than  speech  itself. 
Relations  belong  to  the  stage  of  ideas,  and  it  was  first  things  that 
demanded  expression.  The  order  of  development  of  the  parts  of 
speech  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  development  of  the  mental  facul- 
ties. First  feelings,  then  things,  then  thoughts.  There  is  no  more 
interesting  study  than  that  of  derivative  words.  Not  only  do  the 
roots  take  on  successive  modifications  to  express  all  manner  of  rela- 
tions growing  out  of  the  original  conceptions  of  the  roots,  but  the 


CH.  x]  HUMAN   INSTITUTIONS  191 

original  words  themselves  acquire  more  and  more  complex  meanings. 
I  was  struck  with  this  in  reading  Homer  and  Herodotus,  after  hav- 
ing read  Xenophon  and  Demosthenes.  I  soon  learned  that  while  in 
the  latter  it  was  among  the  later  derivative  meanings  that  I  must 
look  for  the  one  to  fit  the  case,  in  the  former  it  is  always  the  sim- 
plest and  most  material  of  all  the  senses  of  a  word  that  satisfies  the 
context.  And  I  finally  arrived  at  this  generalization,  which,  I  think, 
will  bear  analysis,  viz.,  that  in  the  culture  languages  all  words  relat- 
ing to  mind  originally  related  to  matter. 

Language  is  thus  obviously  a  purely  natural  product,  the  result 
of  a  struggle  on  the  part  of  men  to  understand  one  another.  It  is 
spontaneous  and  original.  We  have  then  to  inquire  what  is  the 
corresponding  secondary,  derivative,  and  more  or  less  consciously 
developed  institution  which  language  gave  birth  to.  In  the  other 
cases  we  have  considered  there  was  little  or  no  time  interval  between 
the  original  and  the  derivative  institution,  the  latter  being  developed 
pari  passu  with  the  former.  But  here  there  certainly  was  such  a 
time  interval,  because  the  derivative  institution  was  so  difficult  to 
create.  It  consists  in  any  means  for  broadening  the  influence  of 
language.  Simple  language,  whether  based  on  sound,  or  sight,  availed 
only  between  persons  in  close  proximity  with  one  another  and  only 
for  present  time.  The  next  problem  was  to  communicate  at  a  dis- 
tance and  to  make  a  record  for  future  time.  Both  these  ends  were 
secured  by  the  same  general  device.  We  cannot  now  go  into  the 
history  of  written  language  through  the  stages  of  pictography,  hiero- 
glyphics, alphabets,  sj^mbolic  writing,  and  printing.  It  has  been 
written  over  and  over  again,  and  all  that  remains  to  do  is  to  point 
out  that  literature,  giving  the  term  its  fullest  breadth,  is  the  normal 
functional  outgrowth  of  language,  the  institution  that  was  naturally 
built  upon  it  as  its  base. 

But  it  may  be  well  to  pause  at  one  aspect  of  the  question  that  is 
sometimes  overlooked  by  philologists.  Written  language  is  mainly 
a  visualization  of  sound.  It  is  of  course  secondary,  but  it  is  none 
the  less  natural  on  this  account.  There  is  a  modern  school  of  ortho- 
graphic reformers  who  treat  it  as  wholly  artificial,  and  insist  that 
language  is  based  essentially  on  sound.  They  are  therefore  willing 
to  set  aside  the  written  forms  of  words  that  have  grown  up  with  the 
history  of  written  language,  and  fall  back  on  a  purely  phonetic 
scheme  of  writing.  The  principle  that  they  overlook  is  that  Ian- 


192  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

guage,  from  the  earliest  attempts  to  record  it,  has  constantly  tended 
to  become  more  and  more  visual,  until  at  the  present  day  in  all  the 
culture  languages  sight  is  a  more  important  sense  than  hearing  in 
giving  meaning  to  words.  Sound  is  such  a  varying  factor  that  the 
same  word  may  have  a  wide  range  of  vocal  fluctuation,  and  pronun- 
ciation differs  greatly  in  different  local  districts  of  the  same  country. 
The  vocal  organs  of  different  persons  differ,  and  the  powers  of  articu- 
lation are  as  varied  as  human  voices.  The  written  word  alone  is 
definite  and  capable  of  being  made  uniform.  With  this  visualization 
of  language  there  grows  up  a  sense  of  taste  and  propriety  which  is 
violated  by  some  of  the  radical  changes  of  orthography  proposed. 
In  those  languages  written  in  Roman  characters l  this  is  especially 
marked.  To  all  esthetic  eyes,  I  think,  c  and  q  are  more  esthetic  than 
k,  and,  all  conventional  considerations  aside,  culture  and  bouquet  are 
esthetic  while  kulture  and  bookd  are  barbaric.  I  am,  however,  well 
aware  that  such  arguments  are  without  weight  with  "spelling 
reformers." 

This  general  subject  of  the  dualism  of  human  institutions  might 
be  treated  much  more  at  length,  as  almost  every  original  institution 
sooner  or  later  gives  rise  to  a  corresponding  derivative  one.  As  the 
primary  ones  are  the  direct  products  of  fundamental  wants  and  de- 
mands of  human  nature,  and  are  thus  intimately  connected  with  the 
psychic  and  social  energy,  while  the  secondary  ones  are  much  more 
in  the  nature  of  artificial  constructions,  it  might  be  advantageous  at 
times,  and  for  the  sake  of  distinction,  to  limit  the  term  institution  to 
the  former  and  call  the  latter  social  structures  in  the  more  restricted 
sense.  Not  that  they  are  not  both  structures  and  also  both  institu- 
tions, but  this  use  of  the  terms  may  sometimes  serve  to  emphasize 
what  is  certainly  a  real  distinction.  We  might  then  go  on  to  enum- 
erate other  institutions  with  their  corresponding  structures.  We 
should  find,  for  example,  that  property  is  the  institution  which  has 
given  rise  to  the  arts  as  a  social  structure,  and  that  out  of  these 
roots  have  grown  up  all  industrial  institutions  in  Herbert  Spencer's 
use  of  the  expression.  The  division  of  labor  in  its  widest  sense 
is  an  institution  which  underlies  all  forms  of  voluntary  organization 
as  social  structures.  These  are  to  be  carefully  distinguished  from 

1  The  general  superiority  of  the  Roman  alphahet  over  all  others  is  hrought  forcibly 
home  to  me  by  the  fact  that  with  the  same  light  I  am  obliged  to  wear  glasses  two 
numbers  stronger  to  read  German,  Russian,  or  Greek  text  than  to  read  Roman  text. 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   ASSIMILATION  193 

all  that  pertains  to  the  state  on  the  one  hand  and  to  the  church  on 
the  other.  The  latter  are,  in  the  sociological  sense,  compulsory  organi- 
zations into  which  men  are  born.  It  is  still  so  of  the  state,  for  if  one 
goes  from  one  country  to  another  one  is  still  under  the  authority  of 
a  state.  It  seems  different  in  the  case  of  the  church,  for  many  be- 
long to  no  church,  and  any  one  is  free  to  unite  with  any  church  he 
pleases.  But  this  is  a  modern  condition  of  things,  and  primitive 
man  was  as  truly  subject  to  the  cult  of  his  race  as  to  its  government. 
Over  most  of  the  world  this  is  largely  the  case  still,  and  it  was  so  in 
Europe  until  the  fifteenth  century.  As  leading  up  to  the  developed 
state  matriarchy  may  be  regarded  as  the  institution  upon  which  was 
founded  the  clan  as  a  derivative  social  structure.  Patriarchy  is 
similarly  related  to  the  gens,  while  the  basis  of  the  more  complex 
groups,  such  as  the  tribe,  is  the  blood  bond. 

This  rapid  and  imperfect  sketch  of  human  institutions,  or  rather 
of  a  few  of  the  principal  ones,  will  afford  an  idea  of  the  nature  of 
social  structures.  They  are  all  the  result  of  some  form  of  struggle 
among  the  social  forces  whereby  the  centrifugal  and  destructive 
character  of  each  force  acting  alone  is  neutralized  and  each  is  made 
to  contribute  to  the  constructive  work  of  society.  In  forming  these 
structures  the  various  forces  are  equilibrated,  conserved,  commuted, 
and  converted  into  energy  and  power.  The  structures  once  created 
become  reservoirs  of  power,  and  it  is  through  them  alone  that 
all  the  work  of  society  is  performed.  All  these  structures  are 
interrelated  and  the  performance  of  their  functions  brings  them  into 
contact  or  even  conflict  with  one  another.  This  mild  struggle  among 
social  structures  has  the  same  effect  as  other  struggles,  and  leads  to 
general  social  organization.  The  final  result  is  the  social  order,  or 
society  itself  as  an  organized  whole  —  a  vast  magazine  of  social 
energy  stored  for  use  by  human  institutions. 

SOCIAL  ASSIMILATION 

The  expression  social  assimilation  implies  original  heterogeneity. 
However  similar  primitive  races  may  seem  to  civilized  men,  they 
themselves  recognize  the  greatest  dissimilarity.  Each  race  looks 
upon  all  others  as  utterly  unlike  itself,  and  usually  there  exists 
among  different  races  the  most  profound  mutual  contempt.  When- 
ever two  races  are  brought  into  contact  it  usually  means  war.  If 
we  go  back  in  thought  to  a  time  anterior  to  all  historic  records,  to  a 
o 


194  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

time  before  any  of  the  early  civilizations  existed,  before  the  Chinese 
Indian,  Chaldean,  Assyrian,  Babylonian,  or  Egyptian  periods,  and 
attempt  to  picture  to  ourselves  the  condition  of  the  world  of  that 
day,  while  we  may  admit  that  very  little  is  known  of  it,  no  one  will 
deny  that  great  areas  of  the  earth's  surface  were  already  occupied  by 
men.  So  far  as  we  can  judge  from  subsequent  history  and  from  all 
that  is  now  known  of  uncivilized  man  in  the  world,  there  existed  at 
that  time  a  great  number  of  entirely  different  races,  tribes,  groups, 
clans,  and  hordes,  each  striving  to  maintain  an  existence.  Whatever 
differences  of  opinion  may  exist  in  respect  of  other  matters,  all 
agree  as  to  this  primitive  multiplicity  and  heterogeneity  of  mankind. 
It  is  with  regard  to  the  cause  of  this  heterogeneity  that  opinions 
chiefly  differ.  The  simplest  and  most  nai've  explanation  is  that  all 
these  different  races  of  men  represent  so  many  separate  and  distinct 
creations,  the  so-called  state  of  polygenism.  This  of  course  is  a 
purely  theological  conception,  and  belongs  to  the  general  doctrine  of 
special  creation  as  opposed  to  evolution.  In  the  present  state  of 
science  it  would  not  be  worth  while  to  take  any  notice  of  it  were  it 
not  that  certain  historians,  philosophers,  and  even  sociologists,  feel 
compelled  to  fall  back  upon  it  in  order  to  explain  the  condition  of 
the  world.  All  that  can  be  said  in  such  cases  is  that  such  authors 
cannot  be  sufficiently  imbued  with  the  facts,  truths,  and  spirit  of 
modern  biology  to  weigh  exactly  the  biological  evidence  on  this  point. 
This  may  look  like  a  serious  charge,  but  when  we  remember  how 
few  even  of  those  who  are  called  highly  educated  and  well-informed 
persons  imbibe  enough  of  real  science  to  be  competent  to  weigh  evi- 
dence from  geology  or  paleontology,  or  who  have  any  adequate  idea 
of  time  limits,  we  need  not  so  much  wonder  that  historians,  or  even 
anthropologists,  should  fail  to  see  the  full  meaning  of  the  facts  of 
phylogeny  and  embryology,  not  to  speak  of  human  paleontology. 
The  'theologically  educated  and  all  those  who  have  only  what  is 
called  a  "  common  school  education,"  know  absolutely  nothing  about 
any  of  these  things,  so  that  between  them  and  the  truly  scientific 
mind  there  is  a  "great  gulf  fixed"  which  keeps  their  thoughts  as 
completely  separated  as  if  they  were  on  opposite  sides  of  the  earth. 
Neither  is  this  deplorable  state  of  things  confined  to  the  wholly  un- 
scientific. The  utterly  false  idea  that  prevails  relative  to  the  nature 
of  science,  according  to  which  any  one  who  can  read  and  write  is 
prepared  to  take  up  any  scientific  specialty  and  become  an  astrono- 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   ASSIMILATIOX  195 

mer,  a  physicist,  a  chemist,  a  zoologist,  or  a  botanist,  actually  places 
scientific  specialists  among  the  least  informed  members  of  society. 
This  has  been  repeatedly  exemplified  within  my  own  observation 
by  the  complete  lack  of  acquaintance  on  the  part  of  many  good 
botanists  with  the  geological  history  of  plants,  and  especially  with 
the  meaning  of  geologic  time.  On  one  occasion  a  distinguished 
botanist,  after  looking  at  a  collection  of  fossil  plants,  perhaps  of 
Cretaceous  age,  closed  the  discussion  with  the  remark  that  he  sup- 
posed they  were  all  prehistoric !  Another,  when  examining  some 
beautiful  Carboniferous  ferns,  after  it  had  been  explained  to  him  that 
they  were  of  the  age  of  the  coal  measures,  inquired  whether  that  was 
not  before  the  glacial  epoch !  The  fault  is  not  with  these  excellent 
people.  The  fault  is  with  the  educational  method,  which  takes  no 
account  of  the  natural  succession  of  phenomena  or  the  depend- 
ence and  true  filiation  of  the  sciences.  But  of  this  enough  was 
said  in  Chapter  V.  The  hope  of  the  future  is  not  in  scientific 
specialists.  A  specialty  once  chosen  all  interest  in  general  science 
and  the  progress  of  truth  ceases.  The  hope  is  in  the  general  edu- 
cated public,  who,  having  no  specialties  to  absorb  and  narrow  them, 
are  interested  in  all  science  and  all  truth. 

Such  are  some  of  the  reflections  that  naturally  grow  out  of  the 
existence  of  the  false  explanation  of  the  original  heterogeneity  of 
mankind.  The  question  of  polygenism  or  monogenism  is  a  biological 
question  simply,  not  a  sociological  question.  It  is  well  for  sociolo- 
gists to  recognize  it,  but  only  biology  can  settle  it.  Most  biologists 
now  regard  it  as  settled  by  the  new  truths  that  have,  since  Darwin, 
been  brought  to  light,  and  it  is  noticeable  that  the  sociologists  who 
suppose  that  the  sociological  problems  connected  with  the  origin  of 
the  human  race  can  only  be  solved  by  supposing  a  plurality  of 
origins  cite  chiefly  those  pre-Darwinian  biologists,  such  as  Louis 
Agassiz,  who  was  almost  the  last  of  his  race.  The  fact  is  often 
mentioned  that  none  of  Agassiz's  pupils  and  students  accepted  his 
views  in  this  respect,  and  the  number  of  anti-Darwinian  biologists 
of  note  can  now  be  counted  on  the  fingers. 

But  the  truth  is  that  the  doctrine  of  polygenism  is  wholly  un- 
necessary to  the  sociologist.  He  has,  as  sociologist,  nothing  to  do 
with  the  origin  of  man.  The  heterogeneous  condition  of  the  human 
race  as  far  back  as  concerns  him  is  easily  accounted  for  without 
any  such  violent  assumptions.  It  is  fully  explained  on  the  simple 


196  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  n 

assumption  of  the  animal  origin  of  man,  which  is  now  accepted  by 
the  great  majority  of  both  biologists  and  anthropologists.  Many 
of  the  latter  deny  that  the  creature  that  early  inhabited  most  of 
Europe,  and  whose  remains  are  found  in  certain  deposits  of  the 
early  Pleistocene,  or  perhaps  late  Tertiary,  was  in  any  proper 
sense  a  man,  and  maintain  that  it  was  simply  the  ancestor  of  man. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  there  was  such  an  animal  as  Pithecanthro- 
pus, the  remains  of  which  have  now  been  found  in  the  island  of 
Java.  This  genus  was  probably  widespread  during  early  Pleisto- 
cene time.  For  reasons  which  we  do  not  understand  this  genus 
acquired  a  relatively  high  degree  of  brain  development,  that  is,  an 
advance  upon  that  of  other  anthropoid  apes,  which  we  know  possess 
relatively  better  brains  than  other  existing  animals.  The  first 
manifestation  of  a  growing  brain  is  excessive  mimicry,  i.e.,  the 
special  faculty  of  imitation.  This  is  not  to  be  confounded  with 
manifestations  of  cunning  relating  to  the  animal's  special  physical 
needs  and  mode  of  life,  which  becomes  largely  a  form  of  instinct. 
The  power  of  imitation  in  the  apes  is  independent  of  their  physical 
needs,1  is  the  result  of  surplus  mental  energy,  and  thus  represents 
a  higher  stage  of  brain  power  in  general. 

As  was  shown  in  Chapter  V,  the  next  step  after  this  power  of 
imitation  is  the  simplest  manifestations  of  the  inventive  faculty. 
While  no  true  apes  now  known  to  the  fauna  of  the  globe  can  be 
said  to  have  reached  this  stage,  it  seems  probable,  and  is  a  reason- 
able supposition,  that  Pithecanthropus  did  really  attain  to  some 
slight  inventive  power.  This  alone  would  account  for  almost  every 
fact  that  reveals  itself  in  the  transition  from  animal  to  man.  The 
least  manifestation  of  this  power  would  be  such  an  immense  advan- 
tage in  the  struggle  for  existence  that  natural  selection  would  bring 
about  the  rest.  Pithecanthropus  would  almost  immediately  acquire 
the  ability  to  expand  territorially  and  occupy  great  areas.  It  is 
not  often  perceived  that  the  restricted  faunal  areas  of  animal  species 
is  due  to  the  inability  to  adapt  the  environment  to  their  needs.  Let 
any  true  animal  attempt  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  what  is  called  its 
natural  habitat,  and  it  is  cut  off.  The  boundaries  of  faunal  regions 

1  Biittikofer  relates  that  the  chimpanzees  of  Western  Africa,  having  seen  men 
bring  firewood  into  camp  and  build  camp  fires,  will  themselves  drag  together  fagots 
and  brush,  surround  it  and  blow  it,  and  then  hold  their  hands  to  it  as  if  warming 
them,  in  pure  idle  imitation  of  men.  "Reisebilder  aus  Liberia,"  von  J.  Biittikofer, 
Leiden,  1890,  Vol.  I,  p.  230. 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   ASSIMILATION  197 

are  veritable  dead  lines  beyond  which  an  animal  cannot  go  on  pain 
of  death.  The  Malthusian  principle,  which  is  more  perfectly  ap- 
plicable to  the  animal  world  at  large  than  to  man,  teaches  that  the 
reproductive  power  if  unchecked  would  soon  make  any  one  being 
so  numerous  as  to  people  the  whole  world.  It  is  the  environment 
in  its  broadest  sense  that  prevents  there  being  ten-  a  hundred-  or  a 
thousandfold  more  individuals  of  any  species  than  can  exist  in  the 
actual  condition  of  things.  But  the  least  power  over  the  environ- 
ment, such  as  a  slight  development  of  the  inventive  faculty  would 
give,  checks  the  eliminating  influence  of  the  environment,  and  per- 
mits the  reproductive  power  to  expand  to  another  and  much  higher 
stage.  The  faunal  barriers  are  broken  over  and  the  species  expands 
territorially,  and  consequently  increases  in  numbers  proportionally 
to  the  area  occupied.  It  was  thus,  as  it  would  seem,  that  Pithecan- 
thropus became  the  master  creature  and  spread  over  great  expanses 
of  territory  in  all  directions  from  its  original  habitat,  wherever  that 
may  have  been. 

If  any  one  should  ask  why  other  species  did  not  also  acquire  this 
increased  brain  power  and  compete  with  Pithecanthropus  for  this 
mastery,  the  sufficient  answer  would  be  that  in  the  nature  of  things 
only  one  master  creature  could  thus  arise.  .The  one  that  first 
started  on  this  road  would  prevent  others  from  doing  the  same  in 
a  variety  of  ways.  It  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  such  would  be  the 
case,  but  if  an  illustration  were  needed  there  is  one  at  hand. 
Admitting  with  Letourneau  that  native  races  left  undisturbed 
naturally  tend  to  progress,  let  us  imagine  any  of  the  existing 
uncivilized  races  thus  progressing  so  as  to  compete  with  the  present 
dominant  race.  The  process  would  be  so  slow  that  before  any 
appreciable  advance  had  been  made  such  a  race  would  certainly  be 
overwhelmed  by  the  hosts  of  men  going  out  from  civilized  centers 
in  a  variety  of  capacities  and  occupying  the  region  in  question. 
Destruction  or  absorption  of  the  native  race  would  be  inevitable 
before  anything  could  be  done  even  to  indicate  that  a  progressive 
tendency  existed. 

It  could  scarcely  have  been  otherwise  at  that  early  period  when  a 
species  of  apes  acquired  the  power  to  modify  to  any  trifling  extent  the 
external  conditions  of  its  existence.  The  difference  would  be  fully  as 
great  between  such  a  species  and  other  species  as  is  that  between  civ- 
ilized and  uncivilized  races  to-day.  The  power  to  wield  a  club  in 


198  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

battle,  many  times  increasing  the  efficiency  of  the  naked  hands ;  any 
other  simple  weapon  or  implement  capable  of  injuring  enemies  or 
killing  game ;  the  foresight  to  lay  up  stores  for  the  future ;  the  art 
of  skinning  animals  and  wrapping  the  skins  around  the  body  for  pro- 
tection ;  the  wit  to  dig  a  hole  in  a  bank  of  clay  and  crawl  in  and  out ; 
and  from  this  on  to  the  stage  of  building  fire,  of  making  tools  and 
weapons,  and  of  providing  more  adequate  clothing  and  shelter, 
and  the  still  higher  stage  of  simplest  tillage  and  the  domestication 
and  use  of  animals  —  such  are  some  of  the  early  steps  by  which  the 
inchoate  intuitive  reason  of  the  creature  that  was  ultimately  to  domi- 
nate the  earth  must  have  won  its  first  victories  over  nature. 

These  steps  once  taken,  everything  else  would  follow  as  a  matter 
of  course.  The  faunal  boundaries  once  broken  over,  the  expansion, 
due  to  diminished  checks  to  reproduction,  would  be  in  all  directions. 
In  a  very  short  time  the  geographical  extremes  would  represent 
great  distances  and  all  contact  with  the  parent  stock  would  cease. 
Differences  in  the  environment  would  alone  account  for  all  the  dif- 
ferences that  exist  among  the  races  of  men.  Migration  would  be 
along  radiating  lines,  but  they  would  not  be  straight  lines.  They 
would  be  lines  of  least  resistance.  There  would  also  be  cross  lines 
and  diagonal  lines,  and  curved  and  crooked  lines,  and  ever  and  anon 
at  any  and  all  points  there  would  be  liability  to  conjuncture.  This 
might  be  friendly,  but  after  the  different  stocks  had  lost  all  trace  or 
recollection  of  one  another,  this  accidental  encounter  between  two 
hordes  or  clans  would  lead  to  conflict.  While  between  a  human 
horde  and  the  wild  animals  among  which  it  lived  there  would  be 
only  fear  or  perhaps  affection,  between  one  human  horde  and 
another  there  would  be  both  fear  and  hatred.  Hence  collisions, 
conflicts,  and  wars  would  begin  even  thus  early  in  the  history  of  a 
race  destined  to  people  and  transform  the  earth. 

All  such  questions  as  those  of  the  "cradle  of  the  race,"  of  the 
"first  pair,"  and  of  the  origin  of  races  generally,  are  therefore 
puerile.  As  Haeckel  aptly  says  we  might  as  well  talk  about  the 
first  Englishman  or  the  first  German  as  to  talk  about  the  first  man 
or  the  first  pair.  In  nature  there  is  no  first,  there  is  only  an  eternal 
becoming.  Long  before  there  was  any  record  or  tradition  the  human 
race  had  spread  over  the  entire  Eurasian  continent,  Africa,  and 
Australia.  It  had  occupied  all  the  Asiatic  and  Australasian  archi- 
pelagos and  islands.  It  had  pushed  northward  into  Kamtchatka, 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   DIFFERENTIATION  199 

crossed  Bering  Straits  into  Alaska,  swarmed  southward  and  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  North  America,  streamed  along  the  Cordilleras, 
over  the  isthmus  of  Darien,  and  followed  the  Andes  to  Tierra  del 
Fuego,  peopling  the  valleys  of  the  Orinoco,  of  the  Amazons,  and  of 
the  La  Plata,  and  the  plains  of  Argentina,  Bolivia,  and  Chili.  We 
have  scarcely  any  adequate  idea  of  the  successive  dates  of  this 
winning  of  the  world.  Long  before  history  dawned  man  was 
everywhere.  As  Voltaire  said  of  America,  we  should  be  no  more 
surprised  to  find  men  there  than  to  find  flies.1 

Social  Differentiation.  —  Taking  the  animal  origin  of  man  and  his 
monophyletic  development  as  established  by  the  labors  of  Darwin, 
Huxley,  Haeckel,  and  many  other  biologists  of  the  highest  rank,  the 
problem  is  to  explain  the  origin  and  genesis  of  human  society.  We 
have  already  seen  how  the  one  differential  attribute  —  incipient 
reason  —  removed  the.  chief  barrier  to  indefinite  expansion  and 
enabled  that  most  favored  race  to  overspread  the  globe.  But  the 
transition  from  Pithecanthropus  to  Homo  was  attended  with  a 
large  number  of  other  modifications,  some  of  them  physical,  others 
social.  It  was  during  this  period  that  the  principal  steps  toward 
the  erect  posture  were  taken.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  these 
steps  here.2  It  was  also  at  this  time  that  the  transition  took  place 
from  a  purely  herbivorous  and  frugivorous  to  a  largely  carnivorous 
life.  These  were  profound  anatomical  and  physiological  modifica- 
tions, but  not  difficult  to  account  for  as  the  necessary  result  of 
continued  brain  development.  From  the  sociological  point  of  view 
the  origin  of  the  family,  which  also  occurred  during  this  period,  is 
even  mor.e  significant.  Among  animals,  the  mother  at  least,  often 
knows  her  yoiing,  and  with  apes  there  is  probably  a  somewhat  gen- 
eral recognition  of  the  nearest  kinship  relations.  With  primitive 
man  this  was  carried  further  and  the  members  of  the  kinship  group 
came  to  be  closely  cemented  together  into  what  may  be  called 
the  family.  This  simply  means  the  parents  and  children,  but  as  the 
children  become  parents  in  turn  it  includes  these  children  of  the 
second  generation,  and  then  of  the  third,  and  so  on,  until  the  family 
or  kinship  group  becomes  so  large  that  it  cannot  longer  hold  together. 

1  "  CEuvres  completes,"  Vol.  XVI,  1784,  p.  37. 

2  I  made  my  first  contribution  to  this  subject  in  1881,  entitled  "  Pre-social  Man." 
Abstract  of  Transactions  of  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Washington  for  1880  and 
1881,  Washington,  1881,  pp.  68-71.     This  paper  was  expanded  to  make  Chapter  VI 
of  "  Dynamic  Sociology."    Many  others  have  ably  discussed  the  subject. 


200  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

It  then  breaks  up  in  various  ways  and  scatters,  resulting  in  numer- 
ous families,  or  kinship  groups.  As  we  have  seen,  there  could  be  no 
special  first  family  or  first  pair  because  it  is  one  long  and  slow 
development  out  of  the  animal  state,  but  a  primitive  family  or  kin- 
ship group,  taken  in  the  abstract,  may  be  regarded  as  a  homogeneous 
and  as  yet  undifferentiated  unit.  The  name  horde  is  loosely  applied 
by  ethnologists  to  something  similar  to  this,  and  Durkheirn  has  not 
inappropriately  called  this  "  social  protoplasm." 1 

Complete  separation  into  hordes  represents  the  lowest  and  simplest 
form  of  group  life,  just  above  the  animal  stage,  but  differing  from 
any  form  of  gregariousness  in  animals  in  the  more  or  less  rational 
recognition  of  consanguineal  relationship.  At  a  higher  stage,  with 
better  reasoning  powers  the  group  expanded  into  the  clan,  which  was 
the  largest  group  that  the  men  of  that  stage  could  recognize  as  kin- 
dred. Thus  far  kinship  was  traced  to  the  mother  only,  as  no  such 
fixed  relations  of  the  sexes  existed  as  to  make  it  possible  to  trace  it 
from  the  father.  In  fact,  parturition  and  not  fecundation,  was  the 
test  of  parentage.  Throughout  the  greater  part  of  this  stage  the 
connection  of  the  father  with  the  reproductive  function  was  unknown. 
There  are  races  now  living  in  which  this  is  the  case,  the  women 
attributing  their  pregnancy  to  some  form  of  sorcery.2  Reproduction 
is  carried  on  under  the  influence  of  the  reproductive  forces  solely 
without  reference  to  function.  As  is  well  known,  the  transition  to 
the  patriarchal  system,  which  has  taken  place  in  nearly  all  existing 
races,  is  effected  through  a  fiction,  called  the  couvade,  in  which  the 
father  feigns  the  labor  of  the  mother,  and  is  thus  assumed  to  acquire 
the  title  to  parentage.  The  astonishing  prevalence  of  this  apparently 
absurd  custom  only  shows  how  deep-seated  has  always  been  the 
belief  among  the  most  primitive  peoples  in  parthenogenesis,  of  which 
the  numerous  later  religious  myths  of  an  "immaculate  conception  " 
are  undoubtedly  survivals. 

It  was  also  during  this  long  maternal,  or  matriarchal  period  that 
language  was  formed,  but  as  the  hordes  and  clans  scattered  them- 
selves over  vast  areas  and  lost  all  memory  of  one  another  and  of 
their  ancestry,  each  group  developed  a  different  language.  At  the 
same  time  customs,  ceremonies,  and  religious  rites  and  practices 

1  "De  la  Division  du  Travail  Social,"  par  Emile  Durkheim,  Paris,  1893,  p.  189. 

2  Letourneau,  Revue  de  I'ticole  d' Anthropologie  de  Paris,  Vol.  IX,  septembre,  1901, 
p.  280. 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   DIFFERENTIATION  201 

grew  up,  and  these,  too,  would  differ  widely  for  each  group.  The 
enlargement  of  the  groups  was  a  function  of  the  developing  intellect, 
but  there  was  a  limit  beyond  which  it  could  not  go.  The  sole  basis 
of  group  adhesion  was  kinship,  and  for  everything  not  recognized  as 
akin,  there  was  no  attachment,  but  intense  aversion.  The  tribe  was 
the  maximum  possible  unit,  and  here  exogamy,  or  the  necessity  of 
marrying  outside  of  the  narrower  kinship  group  (clan,  gens,  etc.) 
was  rigidly  enforced,  doubtless  with  the  twofold  object  of  preserving 
the  vigor  of  the  race  and  of  keeping  peace  among  the  clans.  The 
charm  of  sexual  novelty  also  strongly  favored  this  practice. 

Such  a  state  of  things  can  scarcely  be  called  society,  and  yet  it 
contained  all  the  germs  of  future  society.  This  was  the  stage  of 
differentiation.  The  primitive  social  protoplasm  was  beginning 
to  work  itself  up  into  multiform  shapes  and  to  pervade  all  lands. 
It  is  easy  to  see  that  there  was  no  lack  of  heterogeneity.  Although 
the  groups  all  had  the  same  general  pattern,  they  soon  came  to 
differ  in  all  their  details.  Their  languages  were  different,  their 
customs  varied  within  certain  limits,  their  cults  were  all  different, 
their  fetishes,  totems,  gods,  all  bore  different  names.  Only  a  phi- 
losopher looking  at  them  from  the  highest  standpoint  could  see  any 
similarity  among  them.  They  themselves,  completely  blinded  by 
the  illusion  of  the  near,  saw  nothing  common,  and  regarded  one 
another  with  the  utmost  detestation.  This  great  moving,  swarming 
mass  of  humanity,  now  become  completely  heterogeneous,  would 
necessarily  from  time  to  time  collide.  One  group  would  encroach 
upon  the  domain  of  another,  and  over  a  large  part  of  the  earth  hostile 
tribes  of  men  would  find  themselves  in  contact.  For  we  are  not 
limited  for  time  to  work  out  these  results.  We  know  that  either 
man,  or  the  animal  from  which  man  was  directly  developed,  occu- 
pied many  parts  of  the  Old  World  in  early  Quaternary  time. 
Geologists  estimate  this  time  at  anywhere  from  200,000  to  500,000 
years.  But  100,000  years  would  seem  to  be  all  the  time  that  the 
most  exacting  could  demand  in  which  to  realize  any  required  trans- 
formation. The  assumption,  therefore,  of  a  polyphyletic  origin  of 
man  is  wholly  unnecessary  in  order  to  account  for  the  required 
degree  of  differentiation  and  heterogeneity. 

This  period  of  social  differentiation  represents  that  idyllic  stage 
of  comparative  peace  and  comfort  to  which  ethnologists  sometimes 
refer  as  preceding  the  era  of  strife  and  war  between  more  developed 


2J2  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

races.  In  all  probability  the  pre-human  animal  was  a  denizen  of 
some  tropical  clime,  and  many  facts  point  to  Southern  Asia  as  the 
region  which  saw  the  dawn  of  the  human  race.  Nothing  more  defi- 
nite than  this  can  be  said  with  any  confidence,  and  even  this  is  not 
certain.  But  that  it  was  somewhere  in  the  tropics  of  the  Old  World 
seems  a  tolerably  safe  assumption.  Here  amid  natural  abundance 
and  under  friendly  skies,  living  like  animals,  but  with  sufficient 
intelligence  to  outwit  and  evade  the  larger  carnivores,  capable  of  so 
far  modifying  the  environment  as  to  escape  the  fate  of  other  species 
that  overstep  the  habitat  to  which  they  have  become  adapted,  in- 
choate man  could  reproduce  with  great  rapidity  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  those  born  could  live  to  the  age  of  maturity  to  cause  an 
increase  of  population  in  a  geometrical  progression.  Collision  could 
be  avoided  by  migration,  and  peace  prolonged  during  a  great  period. 

The  duration  of  this  idyllic  period  depended  principally  on  posi- 
tion. Those  who  wandered  far  could  maintain  their  independence 
of  others  much  longer  than  those  who  clung  to  the  immediate  center 
of  dispersion.  Certain  races  that  worked  off  farther  and  farther 
into  remote  regions  or  even  islands,  remained  wholly  unmolested 
and  continued  their  simple  half-animal  existence  unchanged  by  con- 
tact with  other  races.  Some  such  exist  to-day,  and  it  is  from  their 
study  that  we  gain  an  insight  into  this  truly  primitive  life  of  man. 
But  those  who  did  not  migrate  far  came  sooner  into  contact  with 
others  on  account  of  the  rapidly  increasing  numbers  of  men  in  all 
the  groups.  It  was  therefore  in  these  regions  that'  social  differentia- 
tion ceased  first,  and  the  succeeding  stages  of  human  history  earliest 
supervened  upon  the  one  described. 

Without  insisting  upon  close  ethnological  distinctions  I  propose 
to  use  chiefly  the  sufficiently  vague  and  comprehensive  term  race  as 
a  general  designation  for  all  the  different  kinds  of  social  groups  that 
were  formed  during  the  process  of  social  differentiation.  We  shall 
therefore  be  dealing  essentially  with  the  races  of  men. 

Social  Integration.  —  Prolonged  as  may  have  been  the  era  of  social 
differentiation  with  its  halcyon  days  and  wild  semi-animal  freedom, 
it  could  not  in  the  nature  of  things  always  last,  and  as  already 
remarked,  its  close  came  much  earlier  in  the  general  region  from 
which  the  human  race  originally  swarmed  forth  to  people  the  whole 
earth.  Here  the  different  races,  now  fully  formed,  and  having  lost 
all  trace  or  tradition  of  any  common  origin,  and  acquired  different 


CH.  x]  THE   STRUGGLE   OF   RACES  203 

languages,  customs,  arts,  cults,  and  religions,  first  began  to  encroach 
upon  one  another  and  finally  more  or  less  to  crowd  and  jostle 
together.  Regarding  one  another  as  so  many  totally  different 
orders  of  beings,  every  race  became  the  bitter  enemy  of  every  other, 
and  therefore  on  the  approach  of  one  race  toward  another  there  was 
no  course  open  but  that  of  war.  The  proximity  of  hostile  races  was 
a  powerful  spur  to  invention,  attention  being  chiefly  turned  to  the 
production  of  the  means  of  offense  and  defense.  Success  in  war 
depended  then,  as  it  does  to-day,  on  the  mechanical  superiority  of 
the  instruments  of  warfare,  far  more  than  on  personal  prowess.  A 
warlike  spirit  developed,  and  ambitious  chiefs  began  to  vie  with 
each  other  for  the  mastery. 

At  first  sight  this  might  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  social 
integration.  In  biology  integration  is  the  coordination  and  sub- 
ordination of  the  tissues,  structures,  and  organs  of  an  organism,  so 
that  they  constitute  an  integer  or  whole.  There  is  here  also  both 
differentiation  and  integration,  but  in  the  process  of  development 
both  these  take  place  together,  though  of  course  there  must  be  dif- 
ferentiation in  order  that  there  be  integration.  It  is  so  also  in 
society,  and  our  era  of  differentiation  is  somewhat  of  an  abstrac- 
tion, in  order  clearly  to  grasp  the  nature  of  this  process.  The 
human  race  began  as  an  undifferentiated  group,  the  horde,  con- 
taining all  the  elements  of  the  most  developed  society.  This  group 
first  differentiated,  somewhat  in  the  manner  described.  At  length 
a  process  of  integration  began.  We  have  seen  how  the  former  took 
place.  We  are  now  to  inquire  by  what  process  and  according  to 
what  principle  the  latter  was  accomplished.  At  the  very  outset  it 
is  important  to  note  that  this  principle  is  none  other  than  that  by 
which  all  organization  takes  place,  viz.,  synergy.  We  have  the 
antagonistic  forces  at  work  here  as  everywhere,  and  we  shall  see 
that  the  entire  process  is  identical  with  that  which  formed  star  sys- 
tems, chemical  systems,  and  organic  forms.  We  shall  see  all  the 
steps  in  this  process,  and  in  many  respects  social  phenomena  are  not 
only  more  clear  and  patent  than  are  other  classes  of  phenomena,  but 
they  actually  illuminate  the  latter,  and  give  us  a  firmer  grasp  of  the 
exact  workings  of  this  principle  on  the  lower  planes. 

Tlie  Struggle  of  Races.  —  Gumplowicz  and  Ratzenhofer  have  abun- 
dantly and  admirably  proved  that  the  genesis  nf  soc.iftty  a.s  we  see  it 
and  know  it  has  been  through  the  struggle  of  races.  I  do  not  hope 


204  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

to  add  anything-  to  their  masterly  presentation  of  this  truth,  which 
is  without  any  question  the  most  important  contribution  thus  far 
made  to  the  science  of  sociology.  We  at  last  have  a  true  key  to  the 
solution  of  the  question  of  the  origin  of  society.  It_is  not  all,  but  it 
is  the  foundation  of  the  whole?  and  while  the  edifice  of  sociology 
must  be  built  upon  it,  its  full  recognition  and  comprehension  will 
demolish  all  the  cheap  and  worthless  rookeries  that  have  occupied 
the  same  ground.  It  is  the  only  scientific  explanation  that  has  been 
offered  of  the  facts  and  phenomena  of  human  history.  It  proceeds 
from  a  true  natural  principle  which  is  applicable  to  man  everywhere, 
and  which  is  in  harmony  with  all  the  facts  of  ethnology  and  anthro- 
pology. Finally,  this  principle  proves  to  be  a  universal  one,  and  is 
the  one  on  which  are  also  explained  all  other  natural  phenomena. 
If  I  succeed  in  contributing  anything  to  the  subject  it  will  consist 
in  pointing  out  this  truth  and  showing  that  the  struggle  of  races  is 
simple  and  typical  social  synergy  and  that  it  is  the  particular  way 
in  which  synergy  as  a  cosmic  principle  operates  in  the  social  world. 
Conquest  and  Subjugation.  —  The  first  step  in  the  struggle  of  races 
is  that  of  the  conquest  of  one  race  by  another.  Among  races  that 
have  pushed  their  boundaries  forward  until  they  meet  and  begin  to 
overlap  war  usually  results.  If  one  race  has  devised  superior  weap- 
ons or  has  greater  strategic  abilities  than  the  other  it  will  triumph 
and  become  a  conquering  race.  The  other  race  drops  into  the 
position  of  a  conquered  race.  The  conquering  race  holds  the  con- 
quered race  down  and  makes  it  tributary  to  itself.  At  the  lowest 
stages  of  this  process  there  was  practical  extermination  of  the  con- 
quered race.  The  Hebrews  were  scarcely  above  this  stage  in  their 
wars  upon  the  Ganaanites  but  that  seems  to  have  been  a  special  out- 
burst of  savagery  in  a  considerably  advanced  race.  The  lowest  sav- 
ages are  mostly  cannibals.  After  the  carnivorous  habit  had  been 
formed  the  eating  of  human  flesh  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
struggle  of  races.  The  most  primitive  wars  were  scarcely  more 
than  hunts,  in  which  man  was  the  mutual  game  of  both  contending 
parties.  But  at  a  later  and  higher  stage  head  hunting,  cannibalism, 
and  the  extermination  of  the  conquered  race,  were  gradually  replaced 
by  different  forms  of  slavery.  Success  in  conquering  weaker  races 
tended  to  develop  predatory  or  military  races,  and  the  art  of  organ- 
izing armies  received  special  attention.  Such  armies  were  at  length 
used  to  make  war  on  remote  races,  who  were  thus  conquered  and 


CH.  x]  SOCIAL   KARYOKINESIS  205 

held  under  strong  military  power.  Here  the  conquered  would  so 
greatly  outnumber  the  conquering  that  extermination  would  be  im- 
practicable. The  practice  was  then  to  preserve  the  conquered  race 
and  make  it  tributary  to  the  wealth  of  the  conquering  race.  Pris- 
oners of  war  were  enslaved,  but  the  mass  of  the  people  was  allowed 
to  pay  tribute. 

Social  Karyokinesis.  —  Lilienfeld 1  has  likened  the  process  which 
takes  place  through  conquest  to  fertilization  in  biology,  comparing  the 
conquering  race  to  the  spermatozoa  and  the  conquered  race  to  the  ovurn^ 
the  former  active  and  aggressive,  the  latter  passive  and  submitting, 
resulting  in  a  crossing  of  strains.  Similarly  Ratzenhofer 2  compares 
this  race  amalgamation  to  conjugation  in  biology,  and  says  that  hordes 
and  clans  multiply  by  division.  There  certainly  is  a  remarkable 
"  analogy  "  between  the  process  called  karyokinesis  in  biology  and 
that  which  goes  on  in  societies  formed  by  the  conquest  of  a  weaker 
by  a  stronger  race.  This  process  has  been  fully  described  and  illus- 
trated by  both  Gumplowicz  and  Ratzenhofer,  and  they  not  only  agree 
as  to  what  the  successive  steps  are  but  also  as  to  the  order  in  which 
they  uniformly  take  place.  I  therefore  need  only  enumerate  these 
steps  and  refer  the  reader  to  the  works  of  these  authors,  especially 
to  Gumplowicz's  "  Rassenkanipf,"  and  Ratzenhof er's  "  Sociologische 
Erkenntnis."  The  following  are  these  steps  arranged  in  their  natu- 
ral  order:  1.  Subjugation  of  one  race  by  another.  2.  Origin  of 
caste.  3.  Gradual  mitigation  of  this  condition,  leaving  a  state  of 
great  individual,  social,  and  political  inequality.  4.  Substitution  for 
purely  military  subjection  of  a  form  of  law,  and  origin  of  the  idea  of 
legal  right.  5.  Origin  of  the  state,  under  which  all  classes  have  both 
rights  and  duties.  6.  Cementing  of  the  mass  of  heterogeneous  ele- 
ments into  a  more  or  less  homogeneous  people.  1.  Rise  and  develop- 
ment of  a  sentiment  of  patriotism  and  formation  of  a  nation, 

I  shall  content  myseit  witn  a  lew  comments  on  each"  of  these 
phases  and  especially  on  points  that  do  not  seem  to  me  to  have  been 
adequately  brought  out. 

Caste.  —  By  conquest  two  different  races  are  brought  into  close 
contact,  but  they  are  so  unlike  that  no  assimilation  is  possible. 
None  is  desired  or  attempted.  The  society,  if  it  can  be  called  such, 

1  "  Zur  Vertheidigung  der  Organischen  Methode  in  der  Sociologie,"  von  Paul  v. 
Lilienfeld,  Berlin,  1898,  p.  50. 

2  "Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  Leipzig,  1898,  p.  109. 


206  PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

is  polarized.  The  conquering  race  looks  down  with  contempt  upon 
the  conquered  race  and  compels  it  to  serve  it  in  various  ways.  The 
conquered  race  maintains  its  race  hatred,  and  while  sullenly  submit- 
ting to  the  inevitable,  refuses  to  recognize  anything  but  the  superi- 
ority of  brute  force.  This  was  the  origjn  of  caste,  and  the  two 
mutually  antagonistic  and  defiant  races  represent  the  opposite  poles 
of  the  social  spindle.  History  shows  how  difficult  it  is  completely 
to  eradicate  the  spirit  of  caste. 

Inequality.  —  The  inequality  of  the  two  races  is,  however,  some- 
thing more  than  an  inequality  of  rank.  The  races  were  primarily 
(i.e.,  before  the  conquest)  thoroughly  heterogeneous.  They  spoke 
different  languages,  worshiped  different  gods,  practiced  different 
rites,  performed  different  ceremonies,  possessed  different  customs, 
habits,  and  institutions,  and  the  conquered  race  would  die  sooner 
than  surrender  any  of  these.  The  conquering  race  professed  absolute 
contempt  for  all  these  qualities  in  their  subjects,  but  were  power- 
less to  transform  them  into  their  own. 

Law.  —  The  difficulty,  cost,  and  partial  failure  attending  the  con- 
stant arid  unremitting  exercise  of  military  power  over  all  the  acts  of 
the  conquered  race,  ultimately  becomes  a  serious  charge  upon  the 
conquering  race.  For  a  while,  flush  with  the  pride  of  victory,  this 
race  persists  in  meting  out  punishments  to  all  offenders  against  its 
authority,  but  sooner  or  later  such  personal  government  grows  weari- 
some, and  some  change  is  demanded.  It  is  found  that  authority 
may  be  generalized,  and  that  rules  can  be  adopted  for  the  repression, 
of  certain  classes  of  acts,  such  as  are  most  frequently  committed. 
When  this  is  found  to  be  economical,  still  larger  groups  of  conduct 
are  made  the  subject  of  general  regulation.  By  the  continued  ex- 
tension of  this  economical  policy  a  general  system  of  such  rules  is 
ultimately,  though  gradually,  worked  out,  and  the  foundation  is  laid 
for  a  government  by  law.  So  long  as  the  law  is  not  violated  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  liberty  is  conceded  to  the  subordinate  race,  and  the 
performance  of  acts  not  in  violation  of  law  comes  to  be  recognized 
as  a  right. 

Origin  of  the  State.  —  There  are  always  great  natural 'differences  in 
men.  In  civilized  societies  everybody  knows  how  immensely  indi- 
viduals differ  in -ability  and  character.  We  naturally  assume  that 
with  savages  and  low  races  this  is  not  the  case,  but  this  is  certainly 
a  mistake.  The  natural  inequalities  of  uncivilized  races  are  prob- 


CH.  x]  ORIGIN   OF   THE   STATE  207 

ably  fully  as  great  as  among  civilized  races,  and  they  probably  exert 
a  still  greater  relative  influence  in  all  practical  affairs.  For  the  com- 
plicated machinery  of  a  high  civilization  makes  it  possible  to  cover 
up  mediocrity  and  to  smother  talent,  so  that  the  places  that  men 
hold  are  very  rude  indices  indeed  to  their  fitness  or  their  true  merits. 
In  savage  life  this  is  not  the  case,  and  a  chief  is  almost  certain  to  be 
a  man  of  force  and  relative  ability  of  the  grade  required  at  that 
stage  of  development. 

In  a  conquered  race  such  individual  differences  are  likely  to  make 
themselves  felt.  The  assumption  all  along  is  that  the  races  consid- 
ered are  not  primarily  widely  unlike.  The  issue  of  battle  depends 
only  to  a  small  extent  on  real  differences  of  mind  or  character.  It 
may  be  merely  accidental,  or  due  to  the  neglect  of  the  conquered 
race  to  cultivate  the  arts  of  war.  In  all  other  respects  it  may  be 
even  superior  to  the  conquering  race.  The  latter  therefore  often 
has  to  do  with  its  social  equals  in  everything  pertaining  to  the  life 
of  either  group.  The  difficulty  of  enforcing  law  in  a  community 
constituted  as  we  have  described  must  be  apparent.  With  such  an 
intense  internal  polarization  of  interests,  the  conquering  race  would 
find  it  difficult  or  impossible  to  frame  laws  to  suit  all  cases.  It 
could  not  understand  the  conquered  race  definitely  enough  to  be  suc- 
cessful even  in  securing  its  own  interests.  In  a  word,  the  conquer- 
ing race  needs  the  assistance  of  the  conquered  race  in  framing  and 
carrying  out  measures  of  public  policy.  This  it  is  never  difficult  to 
secure.  A  large  number  of  the  members  of  the  subject  race  always 
sooner  or  later  accept  the  situation  and  are  willing  to  help  in  estab- 
lishing and  maintaining  order.  The  only  basis  of  such  order  is  the 
creation  of  correlative  rights  and  duties  under  the  law.  This  can 
only  be  secured  through  concessions  on  the  part  of  the  master  race 
to  the  subject  race  and  the  enlistment  of  the  best  elements  of  the 
latter  in  the  work  of  social  reorganization.  This,  in  fact,  is  what  is 
sooner  or  later  always  done.  The  conquering  race  may  hold  out 
doggedly  for  a  long  time  in  a  harsh  military  policy  of  repression 
and  oppression,  but  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  experience 
alone  will  dictate  a  milder  policy  in  its  own  interest,  and  the  basis 
of  compromise  will  at  last  be  reached.  The  two  principles  involved 
are  both  egoistic,  but  equilibrate  each  other  and  contribute  jointly 
to  the  result.  These  are  economy  on  the  part  of  the  governing  class 
and  resignation  on  the  part  of  the  governed  class.  These  produce 


208  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

concessions  from  the  former  and  assistance  from  the  latter.     The 
result  is  that  form  of  social  organization  known  as  the  state. 

Formation  of  a  People.  —  A  people  is  a  synthetic  creation.  It  is 
not  a  mechanical  mixture.  It  is  not  either  of  the  antagonistic  races 
and  it  is  not  both  of  them.  It  is  a  new  product  evolved  out  of 
these  elements  through  precisely  the  same  process  that  goes  on  at 
every  stage  in  cosmic  evolution  at  which  its  successive  products 
appear.  Only  the  details  of  the  process  are  different  here  from 
those  at  any  other  stage,  but  this  is  as  true  at  any  other  stage  as 
it  is  here.  It  is  the  details  only  that  differ,  the  process  is  always 
the  same.  But  there  is  no  cosmic  product  in  which  the  detailed 
operations  involved  in  its  formation  are  as  plainly  to  be  seen  and 
traced  as  they  are  in  the  genesis  of  a  people.  We  have  all  the 
elements  before  us.  Two  antagonistic  races  of  nearly  equal  social 
value,  but  one  of  which  has  by  some  means  succeeded  in  subjugating 
the  other  and  is  striving  to  secure  the  greatest  return  for  the  cost 
involved  in  so  doing.  After  a  long  trial  of  the  stern  policy  of 
repression  the  physically  superior  race  tires  of  the  strain  and  relaxes 
in  the  direction  of  general  law,  of  calling  in  the  aid  of  the  best 
elements  of  the  weaker  race,  and  at  length  reaches  the  stage  marked 
by  the  formation  of  a  state.  At  this  stage  in  the  process  of  social 
karyokinesis  the  social  idants  mutually  approach  the  equatorial 
plate  and  have  already  commenced  coquetting  for  a  nearer  approach. 
Concession  and  resignation,  compromise  and  mutual  assistance,  pro- 
ceed apace.  Animosity  abates  and  toleration  increases.  A  number 
of  potent  agencies  combine  to  accelerate  the  process.  The  most 
important  of  these  is  interest.  It  is  a  truth  of  the  deepest  signifi- 
cance that  interest  unites  while  principle  divides.  What  all  the  theory 
of  race  superiority  backed  by  the  military  power  could  not  accom- 
plish, personal  interest  and  individual  advantage  secure.  The 
looker-on  is  apt  to  concentrate  his  attention  upon  the  race  struggle 
and  the  political  principles  involved  and  forget  that  there  are  other 
forces  at  work.  These  large  issues  represent  the  general  mass 
motion  of  the  system  and  involve  only  force.  But  the  stage  of 
concentration  has  now  been  reached  when  the  most  effective  activi- 
ties are  molecular,  so  to  speak,  and  constitute  energy.  The  stage 
of  extensive  activity  has  passed  and  that  of  intensive  activity  has 
supervened.  The  individuals  of  both  races  have  before  them  the 
problem  of  maintaining  their  existence.  If  they  are  of  a  sufficiently 


CH.  x]  FORMATION   OF   A    PEOPLE  209 

high  development  they  are  also  interested  in  the  accumulation  of 
wealth.  In  all  this,  however  bitter  their  animosities  may  have  once 
been,  each  needs  the  help  of  the  rest.  Every  man  is  an  aid  to 
every  other.  Business  enterprises  are  launched  and  must  be  sup- 
ported in  order  to  succeed.  When  a  member  of  the  ruling  race 
establishes  a  business  he  must  have  customers,  and  the  custom  of 
a  member  of  the  subject  class  is  as  good  as  one  of  his  own  class. 
He  thus  becomes  dependent  upon  the  lower  class,  and  as  that  class 
normally  far  outnumbers  the  other,  that  dependence  is  increased. 
In  order  for  the  society  to  nourish  and  the  state  to  be  solvent  and 
strong,  arts  and  industries  must  spring  up  everywhere  and  com- 
mercial activity  must  be  fostered  and  encouraged.  The  division  of 
labor  takes  place  ramifying  in  all  directions  regardless  of  race  lines. 
Business  organizations,  corporations,  and  combinations  are  formed, 
based  on  character  and  fitness  and  not  on  race  distinctions. 

Propinquity  in  such  matters  is  a  far  more  potent  influence  than 
race.  The  influence  of  men  upon  one  another,  other  things  equal, 
is  inversely  as  the  distance.  It  is  those  immediately  around  that 
interest  and  assist.  Every  one,  I  think,  has  observed  that  the  par- 
ticular persons  with  whom,  though  it  be  by  mere  chance,  he  is 
thrown  into  immediate  contact,  assume  an  importance  greatly  in 
excess  of  their  actual  merits.  There  is  something  in  the  presence 
of  another  person  that  completely  alters  our  attitude  towards  him. 
What  we  might  say  of  some  one  at  a  distance  we  would  not 
venture  to  say  to  his  face.  I  call  this  principle  the  sanctity  of  the 
second  person.  What  Dr.  Ross  calls  "  the  morality  of  accomplices  " * 
is  a  special  case  under  this  broader  principle.  But  we  may  apply 
it  to  the  problem  before  us  and  we  find  that  it  is  a  leading  factor 
in  social  karyokinesis.  The  proud  scion  of  a  conquering  race  meets 
a  bright  representative  of  the  race  he  has  regarded  as  inferior  and 
finds  that  he  may  be  much  his  superior  in  some  things,  or  at  least 
that  he  can  and  is  willing  to  be  useful  to  him  in  the  carrying  out 
of  cherished  objects,  and  his  race  prejudice  rapidly  melts  away  and 
he  joins  with  him  in  some  enterprise  that  contributes  to  general 
social  development. 

But  interest  is  not  the  only  cementing  principle.  There  are  many 
other  operations  which  at  a  certain  stage  of  development  inspire 
intense  activities  and  possess  a  powerful  socializing  influence.  Such 

l  "Social  Control,"  p.  348. 
p 


210  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

are  many  of  the  ways  of  pursuing  pleasure,  knowledge,  art,  science, 
and  philanthropy,  through  voluntary  organizations.  As  these  are 
forms  of  association  that  are  based  exclusively  on  personal  quali- 
ties —  affability,  zeal,  skill,  talent,  etc.  —  and  not  on  race  differ- 
ences, they  tend  to  break  down  race  barriers  and  unify  mankind 
through  the  recognition  of  true  personal  excellence. 

Finally,  the  time  usually  comes  sooner  or  later  when  the  state 
needs  the  physical  and  moral  support  of  the  lower  elements,  when 
outside  invaders  threaten  to  overrun  and  destroy  it  and  plant  an 
alien  race  over  even  the  race  that  boasts  of  its  own  conquests.  At 
such  times  the  more  numerous  subject  class  becomes  the  main 
dependence  and  to  it  the  new  state  usually  owes  its  preservation. 
When  this  is  the  case  two  other  unifying  sentiments  arise  —  a  dim 
sense  of  gratitude  on  the  part  of  the  ruling  classes  and  a  lively 
sense  of  pride  on  the  part  of  the  subject  race.  These  work  together 
to  the  same  general  end  as  all  the  other  influences  named. 

Passing  over  many  other  equating  and  assimilating  influences, 
upon  which,  like  some  of  those  here  enumerated,  far  too  little  stress 
has  been  laid  by  those  who  have  worked  out  the  law  of  the  struggle 
of  races,  I  must  content  myself  with  the  mention  of  one  other,  which, 
though  in  fact  perhaps  the  most  vital  of  all,  has,  singularly  enough, 
been  almost  totally  overlooked.  This  is  what  I  shall  call  the  social 
chemistry  of  the  race  struggle,  and  which  begins  with  the  primary 
conquest  itself  and  continues  through  the  entire  assimilative  period. 
In  a  war  of  conquest  between  two  savage  or  barbaric  races  the 
women  of  the  conquered  race  are  always  appropriated  by  the  con- 
querors. There  is  never  any  such  race  antipathy  as  to  interfere 
with  the  free  play  of  the  reproductive  forces.  Aside  from  purposes 
of  lust,  there  exists  a  certain  intuitive  sense  that  the  mixture  of 
blood  conduces  to  race  vigor.  It  is  an  extension  of  the  rule 
of  exogamy  and  a  survival  of  one  of  the  earliest  of  human 
race  instincts.  Historic  examples  are  numerous,  the  most  cele- 
brated, perhaps,  being  that  of  the  rape  of  the  Sabines.  That  this 
practice  was  in  full  force  among  the  Israelites  is  amply  attested  by 
Scriptural  passages.1 

There  is  another  instinct  that  tends  in  the  same  direction,  and 
which  may  be  called  the  charm  of  sexual  novelty.  This  is  one 
aspect  of  a  very  comprehensive  principle  which  cannot  be  discussed 
1  See  especially  Numbers  xxxi ;  Deuteronomy  xxi. 


CH.  x]  THE   NATION  211 

here,  but  which  will  be  treated  in  its  proper  place.  We  only  need 
to  note  the  fact,  so  vital  to  the  present  discussion,  that  between 
races  that  are  not  too  different  from  each  other,  when  brought  into 
contact  from  any  cause  the  sexes  are  strongly  attracted  to  each 
other.  Men  are  charmed  by  the  women  of  a  different  race,  and 
women  are  not  less  strongly  drawn  toward  alien  men.  This  senti- 
ment is  heightened  by  war.  Whatever  may  be  the  degree  of  race 
hatred  between  the  contending  races,  this  has  no  effect  to  cool  the 
ardor  of  the  sexes.  On  a  low  plane  of  culture  the  women  of  the 
conquered  race  are  systematically  appropriated  by  the  men  of 
the  conquering  race.  Nor  are  the  women  wholly  averse  to  this. 
Although  they  may  detest  the  race  that  has  subjugated  their  own, 
there  is  a  glamour  attached  to  the  successful  military  hero  that 
powerfully  attracts  women  under  all  circumstances.  Eace  misce- 
genation therefore  begins  immediately,  but  it  does  not  cease  after 
the  subjugation  is  complete.  Throughout  all  the  stages  of  social 
karyokinesis  that  we  have  been  considering  it  is  constantly  going 
on.  All  attempts  to  keep  the  superior  race  pure  fail  utterly,  and 
by  the  time  the  state  has  been  established  the  majority  of  the  inhabit- 
ants have  in  their  veins  the  blood  of  both  races.  The  formation  of 
a,  people,  therefore,  is  not  only  a  political,  civil,  and  social  process, 
but  it  is  also  largely  a  physiological  process. 

It  is  not  until  after  all  these  steps  have  been  taken,  occupying  a 
long  period  varying  in  different  cases,  that  a  new  race  is  created 
through  the  blending  of  the  two,  originally  hostile  and  antagonistic 
races,  the  active,  conquering  race  having,  as  it  were,  fecundated  the 
passive  conquered  race,  introduced  the  elements  that  give  rise  to 
new  processes,  and,  by  a  cross  fertilization  of  cultures,  created  a  new 
social  structure.  This  new  social  structure  is  a  people. 

TJie  Nation.  —  All  past  animosities  are  now  forgotten  and  the 
people  thus  created  have  acquired"  a  sense  of  unity  and  solidarity. 
There  begins  to  be  formed  a  national  sentiment.  A  deep-seated 
affection  grows  up  for  both  the  people  and  the  territory,  and  individ- 
uals come  to  feel  that  they  have  what  they  call  a  country.  This 
affection  is  filial  from  the  sense  that  the  country  has  given  them 
birth,  and  in  most  languages  the  name  by  which  it  is  known  denotes 
paternity — patria,  patrie,  Vaterland.  The  sentiment  that  it  inspires 
receives  a  name  derived  from  the  same  root,  and  is  called  patriotism. 
This  sentiment  is  popularly  regarded  as  a  very  high  one,  but  it  is  by 


212  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

the  same  logic  that  places  maternal  love  on  such  an  exalted  throne, 
when  it  is  only  an  animal  instinct  and  common  to  all  mammals  at 
least,  also  to  birds,  and  probably  to  many  reptiles.  Condorcet  loved 
the  country  that  persecuted  him  and  drove  him  to  suicide,  and  in 
one  passage l  he  very  clearly  describes  the  sentiment  of  patriotism, 
giving  some  of  the  philosophical  grounds  on  which  it  rests.  But  it 
is  not  a  very  exalted  sentiment  and  belongs  to  the  same  class  as  that 
by  which  animals  become  "  wonted "  to  the  particular  spot  where 
they  have  been  raised  with  no  reference  to  its  superiority  over  other 
places.  It  may  also  be  called  collective  egotism,  but  as  Spencer 
remarks,  "  while  excess  of  egotism  is  everywhere  regarded  as  a  fault, 
excess  of  patriotism  is  nowhere  regarded  as  a  fault." 2  Comte  rele- 
gated it  to  the  theological  stage,  its  place  being  taken  in  the  positive 
stage  by  humanitarianism,3  Bagehot  called  it  "  territorial  sectarian- 
ism," and  Dr.  Johnson  characterized  it  as  "the  last  refuge  of  a 
scoundrel." 

But  whatever  its  rank  as  a  human  affection,  patriotism  plays  an 
important  role  in  the  process  of  social  assimilation.  It  is  the  basis 
of  the  national  sentiment,  or  feeling  of  social  solidarity,  that  is 
essential  to  this  last  step  in  the  process  of  social  karyokinesis.  It 
marks  the  disappearance  of  the  last  vestige  of  the  initial  social 
dualism.  It  means  the  end  of  the  prolonged  race  struggle.  It  is 
the  final  truce  to  the  bitter  animosities  that  had  reigned  in  the 
group.  The  antagonistic  forces  have  spent  themselves,  social 
equilibrium  is  restored,  and  one  more  finished  product  of  social 
synergy  is  presented  to  the  world. 

Compound  Assimilation.  —  In  the  above  meager  sketch  I  have 
described  one  isolated  and  typical  case  of  the  simplest  form  of  social 
assimilation  by  conquest,  struggle,  compromise,  and  equilibration. 
It  is  not  of  course  to  be  supposed  that  all  cases  will  conform  in  all 
respects  to  this  norm,  but  it  is  not  believed  that  there  have  been 
deviations  from  it  that  can  be  called  generic.  But  what  is  specially 
to  be  noted  is  that  such  a  simple  case  is  theoretical,  and  that  in  fact 
all  the  known  historic  examples  are  complex  or  compound.  By  this 
I  mean  that  social  assimilation  is  a  process  of  social  aggregation  or 
recom pounding,  and  thus  conforms  in  this  respect  also  to  the  uni- 

1  "Tableau  historique  des  Progres  de  1'Esprit  humain,"  Paris,  1900,  p.  247. 

2  "  Study  of  Sociology,"  New  York,  1880,  p.  206. 
8  "Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  II,  p.  147. 


CH.  x]  COMPOUND  ASSIMILATION  213 

versal  process  going  on  in  nature.  I  have  assumed  two  coordinate 
social  groups  as  units  of  aggregation,  coming  into  collision  with  the 
results  described.  Such  cases  must  occasionally  occur  and  for 
them  the  description  given  is  accurate.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  these  collisions  and  conjugations  of  races  have  been  going  on 
ever  since  man  emerged  from  the  animal  stage.  None  of  the  groups 
of  which  we  have  any  historical  knowledge  are  thus  simple.  The 
earliest  conjugations  were  doubtless  peaceful.  Hordes  coalesced 
into  clans  and  clans  into  tribes  during  the  early  idyllic  period.  The 
struggle  did  not  begin  till  by  the  fiction  of  the  couvade  the  patri- 
archal system  succeeded  the  age  of  motherright.  Doubtless  there 
have  been  numberless  cases  of  the  clash  of  patriarchal  tribes  as  sim- 
ple as  the  one  described.  But  the  historic  cases  enumerated  by 
Gumplowicz,  Ratzenhofer,  Vaccaro,  and  De  Greef  are  all  later  and 
between  compound  races.  The  process  has  to  be  gone  through  with 
over  and  over  again.  A  nation  is  fully  developed  according  to  this 
process,  when  another  more  vigorous  nation  that  has  been  similarly 
formed  sweeps  down  upon  it  and  subdues  it.  Then  the  entire  series 
of  steps  has  to  be  repeated  on  a  higher  plane,  and  all  these  elements 
must  be  again  assimilated  by  the  same  slow  process.  A  new  state, 
a  new  people,  a  new  nation,  have  to  be  created  by  the  same  synergetic 
principle.  But  even  this  is  not  safe.  While  it  was  incubating  other 
states,  peoples,  nations,  were  also  slowly  coming  into  being,  des- 
tined, by  further  conjuncture,  to  become  the  rivals  of  the  other,  and 
so  on  forever.  Races,  states,  peoples,  nations  are  always  forming, 
always  aggressing,  always  clashing  and  clinching,  and  struggling 
for  the  mastery,  and  the  long,  painful,  wasteful,  but  always  fruitful 
gestation  must,  be  renewed  and  repeated  again  and  again.  Nor  need 
the  social  units  always  be  of  the  same  order.  Conjuncture  is  as 
likely  to  take  place  between  races  of  different  orders  as  between 
those  of  the  same  order.  For  example  the  conquering  race  may 
have  resulted  from  a  third  or  fourth  assimilation,  while  the  con- 
quered race  may  only  represent  a  second  assimilation,  and  have 
therefore  acquired  an  inferior  degree  of  social  efficiency.  An  extreme 
of  this  case  is  where  a  so-called  enlightened  nation  occupies  a  region 
inhabited  by  savages.  The  former  may  have  undergone  twenty 
assimilations  while  the  latter  may  be  still  almost  in  their  idyllic 
stage,  or  Durkheim's  stage  of  simple  segmentation.  In  the  case  of 
the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  for  example,  it  is 


214  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  it 

easy  to  trace  five  or  six  assimilations  almost  within  historic  time, 
and  yet  the  last  assimilation  is  so  complete  that,  except  in  parts  of 
Ireland,  loyalty  and  patriotism  are  at  high  water  mark.  Nearly  the 
same  is  true  of  France  and  Germany,  but  the  case  is  very  different 
in  Austria.  Here  the  process  of  assimilation  is  incomplete,  but  it  is 
progressing  appreciably.  But  the  several  races  that  are  now  under- 
going social  assimilation  in  the  Austrian  empire — Magyars,  Czechs, 
Poles,  Styrians,  etc.  — are  for  the  most  part  old  nations  that  have  each 
long  ago  gone  through  the  process,  and  doubtless,  if  their  entire  his- 
tory could  be  traced,  any  one  of  them  would  be  found  to  be  a  social 
unit  of  an  advanced  order. 

The  objection  may  be  raised  that  all  that  has  been  said  does  not 
apply  to  races  so  different  that  they  will  not  mix,  and  one  of  which 
is  so  inferior  to  the  other  that  subjugation  is  very  easy.  The  princi- 
pal answer  to  this  objection  has  already  been  given,  viz.,  that  these 
are  cases  in  which  social  units  of  very  different  orders  of  assimi- 
lation happen  to  collide.  The  so-called  low  races  of  men  have  very 
little  social  efficiency.  Social  efficiency,  as  shown  in  Chapter  III, 
is  the  result  of  achievement.  It  was  impossible  in  that  chapter 
to  explain  by  what  process  human  achievement  is  made  possible. 
We  can  now  see  that  social  achievement  is  only  possible  through 
human  institutions,  and  all  the  higher  and  more  developed  institu- 
tions are  the  outcome  of  social  assimilation.  Those  social  units 
called  states,  peoples,  and  nations  are  of  all  orders,  depending  upon 
the  number  of  assimilations.  Every  assimilation  is  a  fresh  cross 
fertilization  of  cultures,  and  renders  the  resulting  social  unit  more 
and  more  stable  and  solid.  That  is,  it  gives  it  more  and  more  social 
efficiency,  and  it  thereby  becomes  increasingly  capable  of  achieve- 
ment in  the  full  sense  of  my  definition.  The  most  efficient  of  all 
races  are  those  that  lie  directly  in  the  track  of  civilization,  and 
which  have  never  had  their  connection  with  the  past  cut  off  or 
interrupted.  Through  this  continuity  of  the  social  germ  plasm, 
accompanied  by  repeated  crossing  of  the  highest  strains,  the  maxi- 
mum social  efficiency  and  the  maximum  achievement  are  secured. 
Races  that  have  lived  wholly  off  this  line  of  historic  development, 
that  have  been,  as  it  were,  side-tracked,  that  have  been  long  undis- 
turbed and  never  subjugated,  have  only  slightly  felt  the  power  of 
social  synergy,  and  have  been  left  far  behind  in  the  race.  It  is  not 
so  much  their  mental  inferiority,  though  mind  obeys  the  Lamarckian 


( 


CH.  x]  PACIFIC   ASSIMILATION  215 

law  of  exercise,  and  is  strengthened  by  every  fresh  effort  put  forth. 
But  these  races  possess  all  the  elements  of  development,  and  have 
only  lacked  the  opportunity  which  comes  only  through  the  struggle 
of  races  and  repeated  social  assimilations. 

The  only  kind  of  social  assimilation  that  is  increasingly  fertile  is 
that  between  races  that  occupy  substantially  the  same  social  posi- 
tion. The  case  is  very  similar  to  that  of  sexual  reproduction.  For 
successful  crossing  the  individuals  must  belong  to  the  same  species 
and  not  be  too  different.  With  these  limitations  the  more  they  differ 
the  better.  It  must  be  true  crossing  of  stocks  and  not  hybridization, 
or  the  crossing  of  different  species.  The  social  groups  must,  so  to 
speak,  belong  to  the  same  species.  The  difference  between  a  modern 
civilized  race  and  a  savage  race  may  be  called  a  specific  difference, 
and  while  physiologically,  the  individuals  may  be  perfectly  fertile 
inter  se,  the  races  as  such  can  only  hybridize,  with  much  the  same 
results  as  attend  hybridization  in  animals. 

Pacific  Assimilation. — A  final  question  remains.  Is  this,  then, 
the  only  possible  kind  of  social  assimilation  ?  Is  it  only  through 
war,  conquest,  and  subjugation  that  social  structures  must  be  formed  ? 
The  answer  is  yes  and  no,  according  to  the  point  of  view.  But  the 
only  answer  needed  here  is  to  say  that  the  purpose  of  this  chapter 
and,  indeed,  of  Part  II  of  this  work,  as  its  title  denotes,  is  to  study 
the  genesis  of  society.  Pure  sociology  need  scarcely  go  beyond  this, 
although  it  is  not  altogether  confined  to  it.  The  object  has  not  been 
here  to  show  what  man  in  the  social  state  may  and  will  do.  The 
object  has  been  to  show  how  man  entered  the  social  state  and  what 
the  social  state  is  that  he  has  entered.  Whatever  may  happen  in 
society  after  it  is  fully  formed,  the  truth  remains  that  thus  far  there 
has  been  only  one  way  by  which  society  has  been  formed,  and  that 
is  through  social  assimilation  by  conquest,  struggle,  caste,  inequality, 
resignation,  concession,  compromise,  equilibration,  and  final  inter- 
action, cooperation,  miscegenation,  coalescence,  unification,  consoli- 
dation, and  solidarization. 

But  it  may  as  well  be  said  that  there  are  other  forms  of  social 
assimilation,  late  derivative,  pacific  forms,  that  have  already  begun 
to  operate  in  advanced  societies,  and  that  may  ultimately  supersede 
the  original,  spontaneous,  natural  method.  It  may  well  be  that  the 
one  great  historic  line  of  social  evolution  has  well-nigh  reached  its 
term  in  the  direction  of  forcible  consolidation,  and  that  an  era  of 


216  PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAHT  n 

peaceful  rivalry  and  friendly  emulation  is  about  to  be  inaugurated, 
but  the  world  has  evidently  not  yet  reached  the  point  where  war 
shall  cease  and  where  the  millennium  shall  be  ushered  in.  We  shall 
see  in  the  next  chapter  why  this  is  so,  and  shall  consider  certain 
reasons  for  thinking,  and  perhaps  for  hoping,  that  it  may  never  reach 
that  point. 

Our  chapter  is  already  too  long.  To  consider  adequately  all  the 
supplementary  forms  of  social  assimilation  would  unduly  extend  it, 
and  in  view  of  the  fact  that  these  are  the  forms  commonly  treated, 
while  the  primary,  original,  and  true  natural  form  has  been  neglected 
except  by  the  few  authors  named,  there  seems  no  need  of  entering 
into  the  more  detailed  internal  movements  in  society,  most  of  which 
after  all  are  simply  the  normal  and  legitimate  consequences  of  the 
great  struggle  in  its  later  modified  phases. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  considerations  set  forth  in  this  chapter  will 
be  sufficient  to  furnish  a  just  conception  of  what  constitutes  social 
statics,  and  that  however  much  sociologists  may  differ  with  regard 
to  the  classification  and  terminology  of  sociology,  it  need  not  longer 
be  said  that  the  views  of  those  who  recognize  a  science  or  subscience 
of  social  mechanics,  treating  of  social  statics  and  social  dynamics, 
are  vaguely  and  confusedly  entertained.  To  my  own  mind  it  would 
be  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  more  definite  branch  of  science  than 
that  of  social  statics  as  here  presented.  It  cannot  be  confounded 
with  any  other  science  or  domain  of  natural  law,  and  we  shall  see  in 
the  next  chapter  that  it  is  as  clearly  marked  off  from  social  dynamics 
as  from  all  other  sciences,  although  it  is  its  natural  prelude  and  its 
study  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  study  of  social  dynamics,  which 
cannot  be  understood  without  it  as  a  basis. 

Postscript.  —  This  chapter  was  written  as  it  now  stands  from 
Dec.  8  to  29,  1901.  On  Feb.  11,  1902,  I  listened  to  the  address 
of  Professor  W.  H.  Holmes  as  retiring  president  of  the  Anthro- 
pological Society  of  Washington  on  the  origin,  development,  and 
probable  destiny  of  the  races  of  men.  Although  working  in  the 
same  building  with  him  I  had  never  conversed  with  him  on  these 
subjects  and  had  no  idea  of  what  his  views  were.  I  was  therefore 
both  surprised  and  gratified  at  the  broad  philosophical  grounds 
taken  in  his  address,  and  doubly  so  as  they  harmonized  so  completely 
with  my  own  views  as  already  expressed  in  this  chapter.  The 
reader  of  his  address  and  of  the  chapter,  in  the  absence  of  this  state- 


CH.  X] 


POSTSCRIPT 


217 


ment,  might  well  infer  that  we  had  compared  notes  and  aimed  only 
to  present  the  same  truth  from  our  two  points  of  view,  the  anthro- 
pological and  the  sociological.  We  have  indeed  discussed  the  sub- 
ject since  the  delivery  of  his  address,  but  he  has  had  no  more 
occasion  for  modifying  his  views  than  have  I  for  modifying  mine, 
and  neither  his  address  nor  my  chapter  has  undergone  any  change. 
Notwithstanding  this  complete  harmony,  I  freely  confess  that  the 
anthropological  view  so  ably  presented  by  Professor  Holmes,  greatly 
illuminates  my  sociological  presentation,  and  with  his  courteous 
sanction  I  am  most  happy  to  be  able  to  embody  in  this  postscript  to 
the  chapter  so  much  of  his  address  as  bears  most  directly  upon 
the  vital  questions  involved.  His  address  is  now  (Aug.  15,  1902) 
passing  through  the  press,  to  appear  in  the  forthcoming  number 
(July-September)  of  the  American  Anthropologist,  and  he  has  gener- 
ously allowed  me  to  make  the  following  extract  from  the  proofs  now 

in  his  hands,  including 
one  of  the  numerous  fig- 
ures, prepared  with  the 
skill  and  finish  character- 
istic of  one  of  America's 
first  artists,  as  he  is  also 
one  of  America's  leading 
anthropologists,  geolo- 
gists, and  men  of  sci- 
ence —  rare  combination 
in  these  days  of  scien- 
tific specialization. 

I  wish  now  to  combine 
in  a  single  diagram  (K)  a 
summary  of  my  conception 
of  the  development  of  the 
species  and  the  races  from 
the  period  of  specialization 
of  the  anthropoids  up  to 
the  present  time.  The  side 
lines  in  this  diagram  stand 
for  the  limits  of  the  world 


K 


within  which    the    branch- 
jjjor  tree   of    the    Hominidce 


DIAGRAM  K.-  Showing  origin  of  the  gains  /ftwio  (A)  in  Ter- 
tiary  time,  separation  Into  races  through  isolation  in  Post- 
Tertiary  time  (F,  o,  n,  i),  and  theoretic  blending  of  all  forms 
in  future  time.     The  separate  lines  in  each  column  repre-     (A)  springs  up.      The  hori- 
sent  variant  groups  parting  and  again  more  or  less  fully  ,    ,       v  ,  • 

coalescing.  zontal     lines      connecting 


218  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

across,  mark  the  periods  by  means  of  which  we  separate  the  stages  of  devel- 
opment. 

The  first  period  (i)  is  that  which  witnessed  the  specialization  of  the 
group  of  creatures  (A)  from  which  man  sprang.  It  may  be  regarded  as 
corresponding  somewhat  closely  to  the  Tertiary  period  as  formulated  by  geol- 
ogists. We  know  not  the  exact  number  of  closely  related  branches  at  that 
time,  but  it  is  held  that  the  prospective  human  stem  flourished  and  rose 
above  the  others.  In  the  diagram  the  collateral  branches  B,  c,  D,  E,  are  left 
undeveloped  in  order  that  Homo  (A)  may  have  a  clear  field  —  in  order  that 
we  may  illustrate  more  clearly  the  manner  in  which  this  group,  according 
to  our  best  interpretation,  spread  from  its  natal  district  and  occupied  the 
habitable  world. 

That  the  home  of  the  human  precursor  was,  at  this  stage  of  his  develop- 
ment, restricted  in  area  is  assumed  on  reasonable  grounds.  The  apes  and 
monkeys  of  to-day,  which  are  believed  to  correspond  in  grade  of  development 
to  the  human  stock  of  the  natal  period,  are  not  widely  distributed,  but 
occupy  very  restricted  areas  and  such  as  are  particularly  suited  to  their 
arboreal  habits  and  their  rather  delicate  constitutions.  There  is  no  reason 
to  believe  that  man  at  a  corresponding  stage  was  more  hardy,  more  enter- 
prising, or  more  widely  scattered. 

In  the  diagram,  therefore,  the  stem  A  is  made  narrow  below,  widening 
upward,  thus  suggesting  expansion  of  area  with  increase  in  numbers,  energy, 
and  intelligence.  This  expansion  was,  no  doubt,  very  slow  and  may  or  may 
not  have  extended  to  the  farthest  limits  of  the  land  area  occupied,  but  it 
was  prophetic  of  the  greater  expansions  to  be  realized  in  period  u.  We  can- 
not know  in  just  what  part  of  the  world  these  events  took  place,  just  where 
the  prehuman  group  was  transmuted  into  the  human.  It  may  have  been  in 
Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  Eurasia,  Eurafrica,  Lemuria,  or  America,  but  this 
does  not  matter  here.  We  reach  the  conclusion  that  at  or  near  the  close  of 
Tertiary  time  (period  i)  the  change  occurred  and  that  upright,  self-conscious 
man  took  his  place  permanently  in  the  van  of  progress.  We  conceive 
further  that,  about  this  time,  the  continents  assumed  approximately  their 
present  dimensions  and  relations  and  that  this  creature  man,  breaking  over 
the  barriers  that  formerly  hedged  him  in,  was  ready  to  engage  in  their  con- 
quest. The  simple,  initial,  integrate  period  of  his  career  had  now  closed, 
and  a  period  of  marvelous  expansion  supervened  (period  n). 

Spreading  gradually  into  the  various  continental  areas  the  incipient 
human  groups,  as  yet  reasonably  homogeneous  in  character,  became  widely 
separated.  Some  were  quite  completely  isolated  and  went  their  separate 
ways,  becoming  sharply  demarcated  from  the  rest.  Others  less  fully  isolated 
continued  to  intermingle  along  the  margins  of  the  areas  occupied,  so  that 
gradations  of  characters  occur,  and  in  some  cases  the  resulting  hybrid  peoples 
have  probably  occupied  separate  areas  long  enough  to  become  well-established 
varieties.  Three  or  four  groups  only  became  so  widely  separated  and  fixed 
in  physical  characters  that  students  are  agreed  to  call  them  separate  races, 
but  these  comprise  the  great  body  of  mankind. 

The  line  marking  the  close  of  period  n  stands  for  the  present  time,  and 


CH.  x]  POSTSCRIPT  219 

F,  G,  H,  and  i  are  the  races  now  in  evidence.  Let  us  consider  what  is  hap- 
pening along  this  line  to-day.  The  end  of  the  second  period  —  the  isolated 
specializing  period  —  has  come  for  the  races,  and  changes  of  a  momentous 
kind  are  being  initiated.  Man  has  spread  and  occupied  the  world,  and 
the  resulting  isolations  and  partial  isolations  on  continent  and  island  of 
peoples  having  meager  artificial  means  of  transportation,  have  brought 
about,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  variations  called  races ;  but  the  period 
of  group  isolation  and  consequent  race  specialization  is  at  an  end.  In 
the  last  few  hundred  years  the  sea-going  ship  and  the  railway  have  been 
invented  and  the  extremes  of  the  world  are  no  farther  apart  than  were  the 
opposite  shores  of  a  good-sized  island  when,  a  little  while  ago,  all  men  went 
afoot.  The  period  of  differentiation  is  closed  forever  and  the  period  of 
universal  integration  is  upon  us.  We  do  not  see  how  rapid  these  move- 
ments are,  but  contrasted  with  the  changes  of  earlier  days  they  are  as  a 
hurricane  compared  with  the  morning  zephyr.  The  continent  of  America 
has  changed  its  inhabitants  as  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  Asia,  Africa, 
Australia,  and  the  islands  of  the  Pacific  are  in  the  throes  of  race  disintegra- 
tion. To-day  each  man  may  go  two  hundred  and  forty  times  around  the 
world  in  his  short  lifetime.  A  single  individual  may  be  the  parent  of  pro- 
geny in  every  important  land  area  of  the  world ;  and  this  is  only  the  begin- 
ning—  the  first  few  hundred  years  —  of  a  period  to  which  millions  must  be 
assigned.  Then  how  shall  we  project  the  lines  of  the  diagram  into  the 
future  ?  There  can  be  but  one  answer. 

Very  briefly  we  may  outline  the  inevitable  course  of  human  history.  In 
period  in  the  races  will  fade  out  and  disappear  as  the  combined  result  of 
miscegenation  and  the  blotting  out  of  the  weaker  branches.  The  world 
will  be  filled  to  overflowing  with  a  generalized  race  in  which  the  dominat- 
ing blood  will  be  that  of  the  race  that  to-day  has  the  strongest  claim 
physically  and  intellectually  to  take  possession  of  all  the  resources  of  the 
land  and  the  sea.  Blood  and  culture  will  be  cosmopolitan.  Man,  occupy- 
ing every  available  foot  of  land  on  the  globe,  will  be  a  closer  unit  than  he 
was  on  the  day  far  back  in  period  i,  when,  in  a  limited  area  hidden  away  in 
the  broad  expanse  of  some  unidentified  continent,  the  agencies  of  specializa- 
tion first  shaped  up  the  species.1 

To  the  fully  developed  and  completely  emancipated  man  of  our 
time  the  races  of  men,  and  even  the  human  race  at  large,  seem 
coarse,  backward,  benighted,  uninteresting,  and  repugnant.  It  is 
only  from  that  higher  ground  of  the  philosopher  that  they  acquire 
an  interest  and  become  an  object  worthy  of  thought  and  attention. 
This  is  almost  wholly  due  to  the  possibilities  that  they  embody. 
When  we  contemplate  the  relatively  brief  time  that  man  has  occu- 

1  "  Sketch  of  the  Origin,  Development,  and  probable  Destiny  of  the  Races  of  Men." 
Address  of  Professor  William  H.  Holmes,  delivered  Feb.  11,  1902,  as  Retiring  Presi- 
dent of  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Washington.  American  Anthropologist,  N.  S., 
Vol.  IV,  No.  3,  July-September,  1902,  pp.  369-391  (see  pp.  387-390). 


220  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  a 

pied  this  planet,  as  shown  by  the  cosmological  perspective  (supra, 
pp.  38-40),  and  connect  it  with  what  he  has  already  achieved  (see 
Chapters  III,  XIX,  XX),  we  have  a  basis  for  reflection  upon  the 
future.  It  is  common  in  all  such  speculations  to  refer  to  the 
evidence  in  favor  of  an  ultimate  decline  of  life  on  the  globe,  due 
to  the  gradual  withdrawal  of  the  sun's  heat  and  the  general  condi- 
tions of  dissolution  as  the  sure  sequence  of  evolution  taught  by 
Herbert  Spencer.  Without  questioning  the  general  soundness  of 
this  view  in  the  abstract,  it  is  so  frequently  brought  in  that  it 
seems  proper  to  point  out  that  certain  important  truths  are  usually 
overlooked.  Conscious  humanity  has  occupied  about  one  five  hun- 
dredth part  of  the  time  since  the  beginning  of  the  Tertiary.  There 
is  certainly  no  probability  that  the  conditions  of  existence  on  the 
globe  will  begin  to  decline  within  a  period  less  than  the  whole  of 
Tertiary  time.  The  culminating  point  is  at  least  as  remote  as  three 
million  years  from  now.  But  we  can  scarcely  conceive  of  one 
million  years.  That  length  of  time  is  for  all  the  purposes  of  a 
sane  philosophy  infinite.  Any  speculation  beyond  it  is  utterly 
devoid  of  practicality.  We  may  therefore  for  all  practical  purposes 
calculate  that  physical  conditions  will  always  be  at  least  as  favor- 
able as  they  are  at  present. 

These  reflections  have  been  called  forth  by  the  short  concluding 
part  of  Professor  Holmes's  address,  which  indeed  was  omitted  from 
the  address  as  delivered,  but  which  now  appears.  It  does  no  harm 
for  the  sake  of  a  symmetrical  scheme,  to  look  forward  to  the  end, 
but,  for  the  reasons  I  have  given,  this  must  be  regarded  as  purely 
theoretical  and  speculative,  and  we  may  concentrate  our  attention 
upon  that  period  which  is  now  rapidly  approaching,  which  is  no 
longer  a  speculation,  but  is  a  legitimate  and  irresistible  deduction 
from  all  the  facts,  the  period  in  which  the  races  of  men  shall  have 
all  become  assimilated,  and  when  there  shall  be  but  one  race  of 
men  —  the  human  race.  That  period,  as  I  have  said,  is  likely  to 
last  at  least  a  million  years,  probably  as  many  as  three  million, 
the  assumed  duration  of  Cenozoic  time,  and  possibly  much  longer. 
Let  any  one  attempt  to  figure  to  himself  the  possibilities  involved 
in  such  a  truth  ! 


CHAPTER   XI 
SOCIAL   DYNAMICS 

As  social  statics  has  to  do  with  the  creation  of  an  equilibrium 
among  the  forces  of  human  society,  so  it  may  be  inferred  in  advance 
that  social  dynamics  must  have  to  do  with  some  manner  of  disturb- 
ance in  the  social  equilibrium.  But  surely  it  cannot  relate  to  the 
disruption  or  disintegration  of  the  social  structures  J;hat  have  been 
so  slowly  and  painfully  wrought  by  the  rhythmic  strife  of  social 
synergy.  And  as  we  found  that  neither  the  growth,  the  multiplica- 
tion, nor  the  perfectionment  of  social  structures  involved  any  dy- 
namic principle,  we  have  yet  to  learn  wherein  essentially  consists 
the  condition  that  is  truly  dynamic.  This  should  be  postulated  at 
the  outset,  as  the  necessary  starting  point  in  the  treatment  of  social 
dynamics.  This  postulate  may  be  stated  in  the  following  form :  In 
all  departments  of  nature  where  the  statical  condition  is  represented  by 
structures,  the  dynamic  condition  consists  in  some  change  in  the  type  of 
such  structures.  To  revert  to  the  illustration  used  in  connection  with 
the  perfectionment  of  structures,  an  "  improvement "  in  an  invention 
must  involve  some  additional  principle  on  which  the  apparatus 
works,  so,  in  order  to  constitute  a  dynamic  condition,  a  structure, 
whether  cosmic,  organic,  or  social,  must  undergo  some  change  in  its 
type,  whereby  its  relations  to  the  environment  become  different  from 
those  previously  sustained. 

It  was  pointed  out  in  Chapter  VI  that  the  word  dynamic  was  used 
in  two  senses,  a  broader  and  a  narrower  sense.  In  the  broader  sense 
it  relates  to  force  in  general  according  to  its  etymology,  and  was 
there  used  in  this  sense  in  defining  the  term  dynamic  agent.  In  its 
narrower  sense  it  implies  a  movement.  This  is  the  principal  sense  in 
which  it  is  used  in  the  concrete  sciences.  The  difference  between 
mere  motion  in  bodies  and  such  a  movement  consists  in  the  fact  that 
in  the  latter  case  it  is  predicated  of  structures,  and  the  movement 
consists  in  the  gradual  change  taking  place  in  the  type  of  these 
structures.  The  term  has  been  so  used  in  its  application  to  chemis- 

221  ' 


222  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

try,  biology,  psychology,  economics,  and  sociology.  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  it  will  be  used  in  this  chapter.  The  process  by  which 
structures  are  produced  is  not  a  dynamic  process.  Structures  repre- 
sent a  condition  of  equilibrium  and  are  the  normal  result  of  the 
equilibration  of  conflicting  forces.  But  no  dynamic  phenomena  can 
take  place  until  structures  are  formed.  Just  here  is  the  fundamental 
distinction  between  dynamic  and  kinetic  phenomena,  which  are  so 
commonly  confounded.  The  motions  that  take  place  prior  to  equili- 
bration, the  unrestrained  motions  in  all  things  in  their  primitive 
state,  are  kinetic.  But  these  produce  nothing.  They  are  lost.  Un- 
bridled forces  running  to  waste  or  producing  destructive  effects  upon 
all  structures  in  their  way  are  kinetic  manifestations  of  force.  They 
construct  nothing.  Construction  is  only  possible  through  equilibra- 
tion. Statics  does  not  imply  inactivity  or  quiescence.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  represents  increased  intensity,  and  this  is  what  constructs. 
Dynamic  movements  are  confined  to  structures  already  formed  and, 
as  stated,  consist  in  changes  in  the  type  of  these  structures.  But 
the  important  fact  to  be  noted  is  that  not  for  one  moment  must  the 
organic  nature  of  the  structure  be  lost  or  endangered.  The  change 
of  type  must  be  brought  about  without  destroying  or  injuring  the 
structure.  It  is  a  differential  process  and  takes  place  by  infinitesimal 
increments  or  changes.  It  may  be  compared  to  the  process  of  petri- 
faction, in  which  every  particle  of  the  vegetable  substance  is  replaced 
by  an  exactly  equivalent  particle  of  mineral  substance,  so  that  it  is 
often  impossible  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other,  the  minutest 
structures  and  even  the  color  being  exactly  reproduced. 

This  differential  process  is  what  characterizes  evolution,  and  the 
contrast  so  often  popularly  made  between  evolution  and  revolution 
is  the  contrast  between  a  truly  dynamic  process  and  a  merely  kinetic 
process  which  breaks  up  and  destroys  existing  structures  in  order  to 
make  new  ones.  The  structures  destroyed  by  revolution  are  organic, 
i.e.,  genetic  structures.  It  has  taken  ages  to  produce  them  through 
the  secular  process  of  social  assimilation  described  in  the  last  chap- 
ter. It  is  impossible  to  reproduce  them,  and  all  that  can  be  done  is 
to  create  artificial  structures.  This,  in  fact,  is  what  is  done  in  cases 
of  complete  revolution;  though  it  may  be  doubted  whether  there 
ever  was  a  complete  revolution,  and  what  have  been  called  revolu- 
tions have  only  partially  destroyed  the  previous  structures.  Very 
soon  after  they  are  over  there  results  an  effort  to  go  back  and  gather 


CH.  xi]  SOCIAL   PROGRESS  223 

up  every  remnant  of  the  former  order  and  embody  it  in  the  new  arti- 
ficial structure.  After  the  frenzy  is  over  it  is  soon  seen  that  human 
wisdom  is  inadequate  artificially  to  replace  the  time-honored  institu- 
tions which  it  has  required  ages  to  create,  and  a  reaction  usually 
sets  in,  resulting  in  a  return,  temporary  at  least,  to  conditions  as  near 
as  possible  to  those  that  existed  before  the  revolution. 

SOCIAL  PROGRESS 

It  is  common  to  speak  of  order  and  progress  as  opposites,  but  an 
attempt  has  been  made  to  show  that  regressive  tendencies  are 
dynamic  as  well  as  progressive  ones.  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  in 
how  far  this  is  true  and  also  what  qualifications  it  requires.  For 
the  present  it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  the  true  relation  between 
order  and  progress  and  to  show  in  what  the  latter  really  consists. 
Assuming  that  the  differential  changes  that  take  place  in  the  types 
of  social  structures  are  advantageous  or  in  the  direction  of  struc- 
tural advance,  a  dynamic  movement  becomes  synonymous  with 
social  progress.  The  structure  represents  equilibrium,  and  as  it 
must  remain  intact  and  still  constantly  undergo  change  it  represents 
a  moving  equilibrium.  As  change  in  the  type  of  structure  presup- 
poses structure  to  be  changed,  it  is  clear  that  progress  presupposes 
order.  Order  is  therefore  the  necessary  basis  of  progress,  its  essen- 
tial condition.  This  shows  more  clearly  than  any  other  view  point 
could  do,  not  only  why  social  statics  must  be  taken  into  the  account, 
but  also  why  in  the  treatment  of  social  mechanics  social  statics  must 
precede  social  dynamics.  When  their  true  relations  are  perceived  it 
becomes  apparent  that  the  latter  cannot  be  understood  until  a  clear 
conception  of  the  former  has  been  gained.  But  the  literature  of 
sociology  furnishes  no  clew  whatever  to  these  relations  or  to  the 
real  nature  of  either.  Comte  saw  and  said  that  progress  is,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "  the  development  of  order,"  l  but  that  he  really  con- 
ceived the  principle  of  social  statics  as  set  forth  in  the  last  chapter 
there  is  no  evidence  in  his  works.  I  shall  in  this  chapter  also  show 
that  he  did  not  properly  conceive  the  nature  of  social  dynamics, 
although  he  defined  it  and  treated  it  at  great  length.  Nor  can  it  be 

1  "  C'est  ainsi  que  j'ai  construit  le  grand  aphorisme  sociologique  (leprogres  est  le 
developpement  de  I'ordre)  sur  lequel  repose  tout  ce  traite'."  "  Politique  Positive," 
Vol.  I,  pp.  494-495.  In  the  second  volume  (p.  41)  he  repeats  this  aphorism  and  says 
that  he  established  it  "pour  Her  partout  les  lois  dynamiques  aux  lois  statiques." 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [FAKT  u 

denied  that  his  view  of  social  dynamics  as  historical  progress  is  both 
true  and  vital.  It  is  not  opposed  to  any  other  true  view  and  does 
not  in  the  least  conflict  with  what  will  be  said  in  this  chapter,  but 
it  can  scarcely  be  said  to  form  a  part  of  social  mechanics  in  a  sci- 
entific sense.  Comte's  able  treatise  on  social  dynamics,  beginning 
with  the  last  chapter  (51st  lecture,  p.  442)  of  Vol.  IV  of  the  "  Posi- 
tive Philosophy  "  and  continuing  through  Vols.  V  and  VI,  is  a  mas- 
terly development  of  the  doctrine  of  Condorcet,  earlier  formulated 
by  Leibnitz  in  the  phrase  that  "the  present  is  pregnant  with  the 
future."  But  this  does  not  show  how  social  progress  takes  place, 
i.e.,  the  principle  or  principles  through  which  progressive  agencies 
work.  All  these  philosophers  had  a  sort  of  prophetic  ken  which 
enabled  them  to  see  in  a  vague  way  the  truth  of  social  progress,  and 
Comte's  aphorism  above  quoted  is  a  typical  prophetic  or  poetic  idea 
as  I  defined  it  in  Chapter  V.  It  has  the  requisite  vagueness  and 
will  bear  the  closest  analysis,  but  it  explains  nothing. 

Although  sociologists  have  never  formulated  the  principle  of  social 
statics,  still  most  of  their  works  deal  with  it  because  they  treat  of 
social  structures.  They  do  not  explain  how  social  structures  are 
formed  but  they  treat  them  as  finished  products.  Their  work  is 
precisely  analogous  to  that  of  the  systematist  in  botany  or  zoology 
who  describes  species  and  regards  them  as  unalterably  fixed.  In 
biology  it  has  now  been  learned  that  species  are  not  fixed  but  varia- 
ble, and  that  there  has  been  a  perpetual  transmutation  of  species. 
This  is  dynamic,  as  the  other  is  static  biology.  And  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  give  up  the  study  of  plants  and  animals,  considered  as  fin- 
ished products,  merely  because  it  has  been  discovered  that  they  are 
undergoing  slow  changes.  It  is  just  as  easy  and  just  as  important 
to  describe  and  classify  species  as  it  was  before  the  theory  of  trans- 
mutation was  established.  It  is  the  same  in  sociology.  Social 
statics,  like  biological  statics,  is  a  theoretical  science.  It  assumes 
the  fixity  of  human  institutions  in  order  to  study  them,  abstracts 
for  the  moment  the  idea  of  movement  or  change,  and  deals  with 
society  at  a  given  point  of  time.  It  takes,  as  it  were,  an  instan- 
taneous photograph  of  society,  transfers  it  to  the  sociological  labora- 
tory, and  studies  it  at  leisure.  That  picture  at  least  will  not  change, 
and  while  the  institutions  themselves  may  be  transforming,  the  one 
thus  stereotyped  can  be  investigated  at  leisure.  Or,  reverting  again 
to  biology,  the  statical  sociologist  may  be  compared  to  the  naturalist, 


CH.  xi]  SOCIAL   STAGNATION  225 

who,  although  he  may  be  an  evolutionist,  nevertheless  secures  his 
specimens  in  the  traditional  way  and  places  them  in  his  cabinet. 
A  dried  plant,  a  stuffsd  bird,  a  mounted  butterfly  or  chloroformed 
beetle,  is  not  going  to  change  in  his  hands,  and  he  may  let  the  live 
things  go  on  and  change  all  they  may,  his  specimens  at  least  are 
fixed.  In  fact,  however,  all  transformations,  social  as  well  as 
organic,  are  secular,  and  their  movements  can  only  be  seen  with 
the  eye  of  reason,  so  that  human  institutions  as  well  as  vegetable 
and  animal  species  are,  for  all  purposes  of  investigation  virtually 
fixed,  and  the  simple  knowledge  that  they  are  changing  need  not 
disturb  their  quiet  study  any  more  than  the  knowledge  that  the 
earth  with  all  that  is  on  it  is  swiftly  flying  through  space  need  dis- 
turb the  operations  of  men  inhabiting  its  surface. 

Nevertheless,  the  dynamic  condition  exists  and  much  of  the 
change  is  in  the  direction  of  progress.  I  am  using  the  term  prog- 
ress here  in  the  same  sense  that  is  given  it  in  treating  of  organic 
forms.  We  saw  in  Chapter  V  that  in  nearly  all  departments  of 
nature  at  the  present  stage  in  the  history  of  this  planet  evolution  is 
taking  place,  i.e.,  things  are  changing  by  a  series  of  steps  which  is 
an  ascending  and  not  a  descending  series.  In  general,  the  movement 
is  in  the  direction  of  higher  types  of  structure  having  greater  differ- 
entiation and  more  complete  integration  of  their  parts.  What  is  true 
of  the  organic  world  is  true  of  human  institutions.  We  have  only  to 
look  back  over  the  brief  span  of  human  history  covered  by  the  writ- 
ten records  to  see  that  this  has  been  the  case  during  the  past  two 
or  three  thousand  years,  but  especially  so  far  as  regards  the  histori- 
cal races.  It  is  probably  true  only  to  a  less  degree  of  the  rest  of 
mankind.  It  is  also  a  safe  inference  that  what  we  can  thus  plainly 
see  at  the  end  of  the  series  has  been  true  for  all  the  earlier  terms  of 
it,  back  entirely  through  the  human  into  the  animal  state  where  we 
leave  it  to  biology  to  follow  it  on  through  all  the  phylogenetic  stages. 

SOCIAL  STAGNATION 

Social  progress,  however,  is  subject  to  a  sort  of  law  of  diminish- 
ing returns.  The  progressive  forces  are  themselves  subject  to  equili- 
bration and  a  rhythmic  swing,  which  gradually  diminishes  in 
amplitude  and  ultimately  comes  to  rest  unless  some  new  force  is 
introduced.  Imitation  preserves  what  has  been  gained,  but  after  a 
change  for  the  better  has  been  adopted  and  its  value  recognized  it 
Q 


226  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

becomes  sacred  with  time,  and  the  older  an  institution  is  the  more 
sacred  and  inviolate  it  is.  The  permanence  of  social  structures  from 
these  causes  thus  becomes  the  chief  obstacle  to  reform  when  this  is 
demanded  by  a  changing  environment  and  internal  growth.  Society 
is  constructed  somewhat  on  the  plan  of  a  crustacean.1  This  is  espe- 
cially true  of  the  more  backward  and  somewhat  primitive  societies, 
while  the  later  and  higher  societies  have  been  reconstructed  more 
on  the  plan  of  the  vertebrate.  Mr.  Spencer  truly  says  :  — 

The  primitive  man  is  conservative  in  an  extreme  degree.  Even  on  con- 
trasting higher  races  with  one  another,  and  even  on  contrasting  different 
classes  in  the  same  society,  it  is  observable  that  the  least  developed  are  the 
most  averse  to  change.  Among  the  common  people  an  improved  method  is 
difficult  to  introduce ;  and  even  a  new  kind  of  food  is  usually  disliked.  The 
uncivilized  man  is  thus  characterized  in  a  still  greater  degree.  His  simpler 
nervous  system,  sooner  losing  its  plasticity,  is  still  less  able  to  take  on  a 
modified  mode  of  action.  Hence  both  an  unconscious  adhesion,  and  an 
avowed  adhesion,  to  that  which  is  established.2 

This  also  accounts  for  the  prevalent  idea  in  civilized  nations  that 
progress  is  the  normal  condition  and  always  welcome.  Says 
Bagehot :  — 

Our  habitual  instructors,  our  ordinary  conversation,  our  inevitable  and 
ineradicable  prejudices,  tend  to  make  us  think  that  "  Progress"  is  the  normal 
fact  in  human  society,  the  fact  which  we  should  expect  to  see,  the  fact  which 
we  should  be  surprised  if  we  did  not  see.  But  history  refutes  this.  The 
ancients  had  no  conception  of  progress ;  they  did  not  so  much  as  reject  the 
idea;  they  did  not  even  entertain  the  idea.  Oriental  nations  are  just  the 
same  now.  Since  history  began  they  have  always  been  what  they  are. 
Savages  again,  do  not  improve  ;  they  hardly  seem  to  have  the  basis  on  which 
to  build,  much  less  the  material  to  put  up  anything  worth  having.  Only  a 
few  nations,  and  those  of  European  origin,  advance  ;  and  yet  these  think  — 
seem  irresistibly  compelled  to  think — such  advance  to  be  inevitable,  natural, 
and  eternal.8 

Sir  Henry  Sumner  Maine,  speaking  from  a  still  wider  range  of 
observation,  fully  corroborates  these  statements  when  he  says :  — 

Each  individual  in  India  is  a  slave  to  the  customs  of  the  group  to  which 
he  belongs.  .  .  .  The  council  of  village  elders  does  not  command  anything, 
it  merely  declares  what  has  always  been.  Nor  does  it  generally  declare  that 
which  it  believes  some  higher  power  to  have  commanded;  those  most 
entitled  to  speak  on  the  subject  deny  that  the  natives  of  India  necessarily 

1  This  happy  comparison  was  made  by  Professor  Joseph  Le  Conte.    See  the  Monist 
for  January,  1900,  Vol.  X,  p.  164. 

2  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  p.  78  (§  38). 

8  "  Physics  and  Politics,"  New  York,  1877,  pp.  41-42. 


CH.  xi]  SOCIAL   DEGENERATION  227 

require  divine  or  political  authority  as  the  basis  of  their  usages;  their 
antiquity  is  by  itself  assumed  to  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  obeying  them.1 

It  is  indisputable  that  much  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  has  never 
shown  a  particle  of  desire  that  its  civil  institutions  should  be  improved 
since  the  moment  when  external  completeness  was  first  given  to  them  by 
embodiment  in  some  permanent  record.2 

Vast  populations,  some  of  them  with  a  civilization  considerable  but  pe- 
culiar, detest  that  which  in  the  language  of  the  West  would  be  called 
reform.  The  entire  Mohammedan  world  detests  it.  The  multitudes  of 
colored  men  who  swarm  in  the  great  continent  of  Africa  detest  it,  and  it  is 
detested  by  that  large  part  of  mankind  which  we  are  accustomed  to  leave 
on  one  side  as  barbarous  or  savage.  The  millions  upon  millions  of  men 
who  fill  the  Chinese  Empire  loathe  it  and  (what  is  more)  despise  it.  ... 
The  enormous  mass  of  the  Indian  population  hates  and  dreads  change.  .  .  . 
To  the  fact  that  the  enthusiasm  for  change  is  comparatively  rare  must  be 
added  the  fact  that  it  is  extremely  modern.  It  is  known  but  to  a  small 
part  of  mankind,  and  to  that  part  but  for  a  short  period  during  a  history  of 
incalculable  length.8 

To  all  of  which  it  may  be  added  that  even  these  few  persons  in  the 
most  enlightened  countries  desire  change  or  "  reform  "  only  in  certain 
institutions  and  by  no  means  in  all.  As  Dr.  Ross  fittingly  puts  it :  — 

How  few  there  are  who  honestly  believe  that  improvement  is  possible 
anywhere  and  everywhere !  Who  expects  change  in  worship  or  funerals,  as 
he  expects  it  in  surgery?  Who  admits  that  the  marriage  institution  or  the 
court  of  justice  is  improvable  as  well  as  the  dynamo?  Who  concedes  the 
relativity  of  woman's  sphere  or  private  property,  as  he  concedes  that  of 
the  piano  or  the  skyscraper?4 

All  this  may  seem  incompatible  with  the  general  law  of  progress, 
and  may  lead  some  to  wonder  how  there  can  have  been  any  progress 
at  all.  My  purpose  in  introducing  it  is  to  clear  the  ground  for  the 
application  of  the  real  dynamic  principles.  But  another  even  more 
serious  fact  must  also  be  frankly  avowed. 

SOCIAL  DEGENERATION 

The  universally  recognized  fact  that  social  degeneration  some- 
times occurs  has  led  many  to  look  upon  it  as  the  natural  antithesis 
of  social  progress,  and  it  is  said  that  nations  and  races  have  their 

1  "  Village  Communities  in  the  East  and  West,"  by  Sir  Henry  Sumner  Maine, 
New  York,  1880,  pp.  13-14;  68. 

2  "  Ancient  Law,  its  Connection  with  the  Early  History  of  Society,  and  its  Relation 
to  Modern  Ideas,"  by  Henry  Sumner  Maine,  with  an  Introduction  by  Theodore  W. 
Dwight.    Third  American  from  fifth  London  edition,  New  York,  1883,  pp.  21-22. 

8  "  Popular  Government,"  by  Henry  Sumner  Maine,  New  York,  1886,  pp.  132-134. 
<  "  Social  Control,"  New  York,  1901,  p.  195. 


228  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

regular  stages  of  youth,  maturity,  and  decline  as  with  old  age.  The 
basis  of  truth  in  all  this  was  pointed  out  in  Chapter  V,  under  the 
head  of  Sympodial  Development.  It  was  there  shown  that  there  is 
no  true  opposite  to  any  form  of  evolution,  that  development  never 
goes  backward,  retracing  the  steps  it  has  taken,  and  that  the  loss  of 
any  structure  that  has  been  acquired  can  only  take  place  through 
the  crowding  out  or  extinction  of  the  organisms  possessing  such 
structure,  which  is  always  done  by  the  rise  of  other  more  vigorous 
organisms  competing  successfully  for  the  means  of  subsistence.  It 
was  also  there  shown  that  human  races  are  no  exception  to  this  law. 
There  is  therefore  little  to  be  said  here  except  to  point  out  the 
place  that  social  degeneration  occupies  in  social  mechanics  and 
especially  in  social  dynamics.  The  chief  question  is  whether 
degeneracy  constitutes  a  movement  in  the  same  sense  as  progress, 
so  as  to  make  it  a  factor  in  the  dynamic  life  of  society.  It  is  usually 
held  to  be  such,  but  it  now  becomes  clear  that  this  view  requires 
qualification.  Degeneration  or  decadence,  if  we  make  these  terms 
synonymous,  is  not  strictly  dynamic,  but  quasi-pathologic.  There 
is  only  one  form  of  it  that  seems  to  constitute  an  exception  to  this 
rule,  and  this  is  parasitic  degeneracy.  This,  as  was  shown  in  Chap- 
ter IV,  is  always  a  product  of  the  law  of  parsimony,  and  works 
really  to  the  advantage  of  the  being  undergoing  it.  When  a  hand- 
some moth,  the  agile  form  and  gay  colors  of  which  were  produced 
by  natural  and  sexual  selection,  abandons  its  competitive  life  and 
attaches  itself  to  a  host  from  whose  stored  tissues  it  directly  and 
far  more  easily  draws  an  abundant  subsistence,  its  wings  become 
useless  and  abort  under  the  Lamarckian  principle  of  disuse,  its 
form  becomes  fleshy,  obese,  and  uncouth,  and  all  its  beauty  vanishes, 
because  no  longer  needed  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  To  the 
esthetic  looker-on  this  is  degeneracy,  and  from  the  standpoint  of 
evolution  it  is  also  degeneracy,  since  it  is  change  in  the  direction  of 
simplicity  of  structure,  although  not  in  a  direction  just  the  reverse 
of  that  by  which  the  former  more  complex  structure  was  acquired. 
But  from  the  standpoint  of  the  advantage  of  the  organism  it  is 
progress,  since  for  the  organism  the  last  estate  is  better  than  the 
first.  Social  parasitism  of  every  kind  conforms  to  the  principle  of 
organic  parasitism,  and  therefore  does  not  constitute  regression,  as 
the  opposite  of  progression.  It  is  not  strictly  pathologic,  and  it 
may  be  classed  as  a  form  of  social  progress. 


CH.  xi]  SOCIAL  INSTABILITY  229 

If  savage  man  has  come  out  of  an  animal  state  (Homo  descended 
from  Pithecanthropus),  if  barbaric  man  has  come  from  savage 
man,  if  half-civilized  man  has  come  from  barbaric  man,  if  civilized 
man  has  come  from  half-civilized  man,  if  enlightened  man  has  come 
from  early  civilized  man,  then  there  has  in  the  long  run  always  been 
progress  in  spite  of  all  the  forms  of  degeneracy  and  all  the  rhythms 
to  which  this  series  of  phenomena  has  been  subjected.  The  later 
steps  in  the  series  we  know  to  have  taken  place,  because  we  have 
a  connected  historical  account  of  them.  The  very  earliest  steps  are 
pretty  clearly  taught  by  zoology,  paleontology,  embryology,  and 
phylogeny.  The  only  ones  that  are  not  clearly  vouched  for  are 
the  second  and  third,  and  even  here  we  are  not  altogether  without 
evidence,  while  all  theory,  all  logic,  and  all  scientific  analogy  supr 
port  them.  Ethnologists  have  described  certain;  low  races  whoin 
they  suppose  to  have  degenerated  from  some  higher  state,  as,  foy 
example,  the  Veddahs,  the  Akkas,  the  Fuegians,  and  even  the  Ainos 
and  the  Esquimaux.  From  this  there  are  certain  to  be  some  who 
will  "jump  at  the  conclusion"  that  all  savages  are  degenerates,. 
This  is  but  to  revive  the  old  doctrine  of  a  "  golden  age  "  and  the  de-r 
generacy  of  all  mankind,  or  at  least  Aristotle's  doctrine  that  all  sav,r 
ages  have  degenerated  from  a  civilized  state.  These  doctrines  have 
all  been  definitely  set  at  rest  by  Lyell,1  Tylor,2  Lubbock,3  and  others^ 
and  need  not  occupy  us. 


Although  everything  points  to  social  evolution  as  having  always 
gone  on  and  as  still  going  on,  and  although  there  are  no  indications 
that  there  is  now  or  ever  has  been  any  true  social  involution  in  the 
sense  of  retracing  the  steps  that  have  been  taken,  still,  it  must  riot 
be  inferred  that  all  the  modern  discussion  of  the  problem  of  social 
decadence  is  to  no  purpose  or  based  on  vain  imaginings.  The  real 
problem  is  how  to  secure  social  stability.  The  Complicated  process 
by  which  societies  are  formed,  as  set  forth  in  the  last  chapter,  ren- 
ders them  somewhat  delicate  structures,  and  although  the  degree  of 
social  efficiency  increases  directly  with  the  degree  of  complexity,  the 

1  "  Antiquity  of  Man,"  London,  1863,  Chapter  XIX,  p.  379. 

2  "  Primitive  Culture,"  London,  1871,  Vol.  II,  pp.  52  ff. 

8  British  Association  Report,  Dundee  Meeting,  1807,  London,  1868,  Pt.  II,  Noticed 
and  Abstracts,  pp.  121  ff. 


230  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

degree  of  stability  seems  to  be  inversely  proportional  to  the  grade 
of  aggregation.  We  meet  here  with  a  fresh  application  of  the  law 
that  was  seen  to  prevail  in  the  organic  world,  and  which  was  charac- 
terized by  the  phrase :  survival  of  the  plastic.  There  is  a  constant 
tendency  in  society  to  ossification,  growing  out  of  the  intense  appre- 
ciation that  all  mankind  displays  for  those  social  structures  that  have 
served  a  good  purpose.  Men  perpetually  praise  the  bridge  that 
took  them  across  the  river  of  life,  and  continue  to  praise  it  and  cling 
to  it  after  its  timbers  have  decayed  and  its  abutments  begin  to 
crumble.  This  highly  useful  conservatism  thus  becomes  a  dangerous 
misoneism,  and  the  very  stability  which  men  thus  seek  to  secure 
becomes  a  source  of  weakness.  Here  we  encounter  the  distinction 
between  the  stable  and  the  labile,  or  rather  the  real  connection  be- 
tween the  two.  For  only  the  labile  is  truly  stable,  just  as  in  the 
domain  of  living  things,  only  the  plastic  is  enduring.  For  lability 
is  not  an  exact  synonym  of  instability,  as  the  dictionaries  teach,  but 
embodies  besides  the  idea  of  flexibility  and  susceptibility  to  change 
without  destruction  or  loss.  It  is  that  quality  in  institutions  which 
enables  them  to  change  and  still  persist,  which  converts  their  equilib- 
rium into  a  moving  equilibrium,  and  which  makes  possible  their 
adaptation  to  both  internal  and  external  modification,  to  changes  in 
both  individual  character  and  the  environment. 

As  there  is  no  such  thing  in  physics  as  absolute  rest,  so  there  is  no 
such  thing  in  society  as  absolute  stagnation,  so  that  when  a  society 
makes  for  itself  a  procrustean  bed  it  is  simply  preparing  the  way 
for  its  own  destruction  by  the  on-moving  agencies  of  social  dynamics. 
The  law  of  the  instability  of  the  homogeneous  will  alone  prevent  the 
continuance  of  a  changeless  state,  but  as  structures  once  formed 
never  retrace  the  steps  through  which  they  were  created,  they  must 
either  change  organically  and  move  on  to  higher  stages  or  they  must 
succumb  to  the  pressure  exerted  by  surrounding  dynamic  influences. 
The  case  is  precisely  the  same  here  as  that  described  in  Chapter  V, 
when  dealing  with  the  causes  of  the  extinction  of  species  and  of 
trunk  lines  of  descent  under  the  influence  of  sympodial  development. 
It  is  this  that  is  meant  by  the  instability  of  society  or  of  civilization. 
Social  decadence  is  never  universal.  If  it  is  going  on  in  one  place 
a  corresponding  social  progress  is  going  on  in  others,  and  thus  far 
the  loss  has  always  been  more  than  made  up  by  the  gain.  The 
causes  of  social  decadence  have  been  so  widely,  I  will  not  say  deeply, 


CH.  xi]  DYNAMIC  PRINCIPLES  231 

discussed  in  recent  times  that  I  need  not  dwell  upon  them.  They 
are  personal,  racial,  and  social.1  We  may  therefore  admit  the  force 
of  the  arguments  of  the  school  of  criminal  anthropologists  headed 
by  Lombroso,  of  the  school  of  anthroposociologists  headed  by  La- 
pouge,  of  the  school  of  individualists  headed  by  Demolins,  and 
of  the  statisticians,  who  have  demonstrated  the  law  that  the  in- 
crease of  intelligence  and  of  population  are  inversely  proportional ; 
we  may  concede  with  Nietzsche  that  a  high  state  of  morals  and 
civility  is  iri  a  certain  sense  decadent,  and  with  other  extremists 
that  all  forms  of  collective  existence  are  to  some  extent  at  the  ex- 
pense of  virility ;  we  may  recognize  all  these  factors  of  the  problem 
without  being  thereby  blinded  to  the  principal  fact  that  in  society 
and  in  the  human  race  generally  the  series  has  thus  far  been  and 
still  remains  an  ascending  one,  and  that  social,  organic,  and  cosmic 
evolution  prevail  and  have  prevailed  to  the  limit  of  our  powers  of 
fathoming  the  universe.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  scientific 
optimism  should  not,  and,  properly  interpreted,  does  not  teach  any 
laissez  faire  doctrine,  and  we  cannot  afford  to  close  our  eyes  to  the 
patent  facts  of  social  instability. 

But  I  may  as  well  repeat  here  what  was  said  at  the  close  of  the 
preceding  section,  that  my  purpose  in  discussing  social  stagnation, 
social  degeneration,  and  social  instability  has  been  to  prepare  the 
way  for  the  clear  and  intelligent  discussion  of  the  true  principles  of 
social  dynamics.  These  subjects  now  so  engross  public  attention 
that  all  proper  perspective  is  destroyed,  and  the  picture  presented 
of  human  society  has  become  distorted  and  obscured. 

DYNAMIC  PRINCIPLES 

In  some  respects  social  dynamics  is  a  more  complex  branch  of 
social  mechanics  than  social  statics.  In  the  latter  we  found  that  all 
the  phenomena  were  controlled  by  a  single  principle,  that  of  social 
synergy,  under  which  social  energy  is  equilibrated  and  social  struc- 
tures are  formed.  In  social  dynamics,  on  the  contrary,  several  quite 
distinct  principles  must  be  recognized.  We  shall  endeavor  to  reduce 
these  to  three,  or  at  least  to  confine  ourselves  chiefly  to  the  three 
leading  dynamic  principles.  These  are,  first,  difference  of  potential, 
manifested  chiefly  in  the  crossing  of  cultures,  and  by  which  the 

J  See  the  recent  able  article  on  this  subject  by  Miss  Sarah  E.  Simons,  Ann.  Acad, 
Pol.  and  Soc.  Sci.,  Philadelphia,  Vol.  XVlil,  September,  1901,  pp.  251-274. 


232  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

equilibrium  of  social  structures  is  disturbed,  converting  stability 
into  lability ;  second,  innovation,  due  to  psychic  exuberance,  through 
which  the  monotonous  repetition  of  social  heredity  is  interrupted, 
and  new  vistas  are  gained ;  and  third,  conation,  or  social  effort,  by 
which  the  social  energy  is  applied  to  material  things,  resulting  in 
poesis  and  achievement.  All  these  principles  are  unconscious  social 
agencies  working  for  social  progress. 

Difference  of  Potential.  —  This  expression  is  of  course  borrowed 
from  modern  physics,  and  I  shall  assume  that  the  reader  is  familiar 
with  the  distinction  between  potential  and  kinetic  energy.  It  is  the 
broadest  of  all  the  dynamic  principles,  and  is,  in  fact,  a  cosmic  prin- 
ciple like  that  of  synergy.  I  cannot  deal  with  it  in  all  its  bearings 
upon  social  science,  but  must  confine  myself  chiefly  to  its  one  great 
application,  the  crossing,  or  cross  fertilization  of  cultures.  Although 
I  do  not  refer  here  especially  to  the  physiological  aspect  of  the 
question,  still,  as  this  furnishes  the  clearest  illustration  of  the 
principle  I  shall  make  free  use  of  it,  and  to  render  it  still  more 
clear  I  shall  begin  the  discussion  with  a  glance  at  the  nature  of 
sex. 

Biologists  have  only  recently  discovered  the  principle  of  sex.  It 
had  always  been  supposed,  and  is  still  popularly  supposed,  that  the 
purpose  of  sex  is  to  insure  reproduction.  But,  paradoxical  as  it 
may  sound,  sex  has  fundamentally  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
reproduction.  Not,  of  course,  that  in  the  higher  animals  reproduc- 
tion is  possible  except  through  the  organs  of  sex,  but  the  great  num- 
ber of  organisms  now  known  to  science  which  possess  no  sex,  and 
which,  nevertheless,  reproduce  asexually  in  the  most  prolific  man- 
ner, clearly  shows  that  sex  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  reproduction. 
What,  then,  is  the  purpose  of  sex  ?  What  office  does  it  perform  in 
organic  economy  ?  The  answer  that  modern  biology  gives  to  this 
question  is  that  sex  is  a  device  for  keeping  up  a  difference  of  potential. 

In  asexual  reproduction  heredity  is  simple  repetition.  The  struc- 
tures in  existence  exactly  reproduce  themselves.  The  offspring  is 
in  all  respects  like  the  parent.  Function  is  fully  performed. 
Growth  and  multiplication  go  on  at  rapid  rates.  There  may  be 
even  considerable  perfectionment  of  these  same  structures.  But, 
as  we  saw  in  the  last  chapter,  all  these  are  static  operations.  The 
horticulturist  well  knows  that  propagation  by  buds,  slips,  stolons, 
grafts,  etc.,  simply  continues  the  stock  indefinitely  unchanged, 


CH.  xi]  DIFFERENCE   OF  POTENTIAL  233 

while  propagation  by  seed  is  liable  to  produce  change  in  the  stock 
in  almost  any  direction.  Seedlings  frequently  will  not  "  come  true." 
This  is  because  seed  is  the  result  of  sexual  fertilization,  and  em- 
bodies elements  from  two  plants,  or  at  least  two  individuals  in  the 
biological  sense,  according  to  which  a  single  plant  is  composed  of 
many  individuals. 

In  native  plants  the  attentive  observer  can  clearly  see  the  effort 
of  nature  to  avail  herself  of  the  advantages  of  sex.  The  original 
and  "natural"  method  of  reproduction  is  asexual,  and  all  sexual 
differentiation  has  been  a  departure  from  that  method.  But  except 
in  the  lowest  forms  sexuality  has  been  attained  throughout  the  vege- 
table kingdom.  Here,  however,  it  usually  goes  on  along  with  asex- 
ual reproduction.  In  fact  sexual  reproduction  in  plants  is  almost 
always  an  "  alternation  of  generations."  This  phenomenon  when 
discovered  in  a  few  animals  was  regarded  as  quite  remarkable,  and 
botanists  did  not  have  the  wit  to  see  that  what  was  an  exception  in 
the  animal  kingdom,  was  the  rule  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  But 
in  plants,  after  true  sexuality  had  been  attained  there  were  several 
steps  in  the  direction  of  more  and  more  complete  dualism  in  repro- 
duction. There  are,  for  example,  the  hermaphrodite,  the  monoecious, 
and  the  dioecious  states,  and  the  evidence  is  strong  that  this  is  the 
order  in  which  these  states  have  been  developed.  But  this  is  not 
the  whole  of  the  story.  It  is  found  that  among  plants  that  have 
every  outward  appearance  of  being  hermaphrodite  there  are  many 
that  are  only  structurally  so,  but  functionally  unisexual.  There  is 
a  variety  of  devices  for  securing  this  result.  The  commonest  of 
these  is  what  is  called  dichogamy,  and  the  two  principal  forms  of 
dichogamy  are  proterandry,  by  which  the  anthers  mature  and  shed 
their  pollen  before  the  pistils  are  ready  for  it,  and  proterogyny,  the 
reverse  of  proterandry,  in  both  of  which  self  fertilization  is  impos- 
sible. In  other  cases,  as  commonly  in  the  strawberry,  although  all 
the  flowers  have  both  stamens  and  pistils,  a  close  inspection  shows 
that  in  some  flowers  only  the  stamens  are  functional  and  in  others 
only  the  pistils.  In  many  monoecious  plants,  as,  for  example,  in  the 
wild  rice  (Zizania),  the  female  flowers  are  above  the  male,  so  that 
the  pollen  from  the  latter  cannot  fall  upon  the  former.  But  the 
number  of  such  devices  is  so  great  that  no  enumeration  of  them  is 
possible  here.  Everywhere  nature  is  seeking,  as  Dr.  Gray  happily 
expressed  it  "  how  not  to  do  it,"  and  the  intention,  so  to  speak,  is 


234  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

plainly  written  over  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom  to  prevent  self 
fertilization  at  all  hazards.  But  when  we  examine  the  other  more 
numerous  and  obvious  class  of  cases  in  which  it  is  evidently,  and,  as 
we  may  say,  avowedly  sought  to  secure  cross  fertilization,  we  cannot 
look  amiss  of  them.  In  fact  we  may  almost  venture  the  general 
proposition  that  all  irregular  flowers  are  adaptations  to  insect  agency 
for  this  purpose.  Fragrance  in  flowers  seeks  the  same  end,  and,  in 
fact,  color,  and  brilliancy  in  flowers  can  have  no  other  object.  But 
for  the  possibility  of  cross  fertilization  by  insects  there  would  have 
been  no  flowers  in  the  popular  sense,  and  as  I  have  often  pointed 
out,  showy  and  fragrant  flowers  came  into  existence  simultaneously 
with  nectar-seeking  insects. 

There  is  a  constant  tendency  in  both  the  vegetable  and  the  animal 
kingdoms  to  escape  from  asexual  reproduction  and  resort  to  sexual 
reproduction,  and  in  the  latter  to  secure  the  greatest  possible  separa- 
tion of  the  sexes  and  difference  in  the  parents.  Although  all  this  is 
brought  about  by  natural  selection,  or  the  principle  of  advantage, 
and  the  term  purpose  is  a  metaphor,  still  it  overwhelmingly  demon- 
strates that  there  is  an  advantage  in  sexuality.  This  advantage  is 
clear  to  be  seen,  since  it  is  nothing  less  than  that  of  setting  up  a 
difference  of  potential  between  organic  beings,  which  may  be  regarded 
in  so  far  as  mechanical  systems  charged  with  potential  energy  which 
cannot  be  converted  into  kinetic  energy  except  through  the  influence 
of  other  systems  foreign  to  themselves  brought  into  such  relations 
to  them  as  to  act  upon  them  and  mutually  give  and  take  of  their 
stored  energy.  This  sex  primarily  accomplishes,  and  it  is  accom- 
plished in  increasing  degrees  by  the  wider  and  wider  crossing  of 
strains.  Thus  the  object  of  sex  is  not  reproduction  at  all  but  varia- 
tion. It  is  organic  differentiation,  higher  life,  progress,  evolution. 

The  crossing  of  strains  is  in  the  highest  degree  dynamic,  and  it 
applies  to  all  living  beings.  It  must  therefore  apply  to  man,  and 
before  leaving  the  physiological  side  of  the  subject  it  is  well  to  note 
that  this  is  the  principle  that  underlies  all  the  customs  and  laws  of 
primitive  as  well  as  civilized  men  looking  to  the  preservation  of  the 
vigor  of  races.  The  most  conspicuous  and  widespread  of  such  cus- 
toms are  those  which,  in  varying  forms  and  degrees,  and  with  vary- 
ing but  usually  great  severity,  enforce  the  practice  of  exogamy. 
Among  higher  races  the  same  principle  is  embodied  in  laws  against 
incest,  and  in  codes  defining  the  degrees  of  consanguinity  within 


en.  xi]  DIFFERENCE   OF   POTENTIAL  235 

which  marriage  is  forbidden.  Everywhere  it  is  and  always  has  been 
realized  either  instinctively,  intuitively,  or  rationally,  and  now  it  has 
been  demonstrated  experimentally,  that  close  interbreeding  is  dete- 
riorating and  endangers  the  life  of  society.  We  need  not  discuss 
how  men  so  early  arrived  at  this  truth.  Personally  I  am  disposed 
to  regard  it  as  in  large  part  a  survival  of  customs  so  old  that  they 
were  developed  under  the  biologic  principle  of  natural  selection. 
But  be  that  as  it  may,  from  the  high  standpoint  of  the  sociologist 
the  truth  comes  forth  as  one  of  the  clearest  exemplifications  of  the 
universal  principle  of  social  dynamics  for  which  the  phrase  difference 
of  potential  seems  to  be  the  clearest  expression. 

But  difference  of  potential  is  a  social  as  well  as  a  physiological 
and  a  physical  principle,  and  perhaps  we  shall  find  the  easiest  transi- 
tion from  the  physiological  to  the  social  in  viewing  the  deteriorating 
effects  of  close  interbreeding  from  the  standpoint  of  the  environment 
instead  of  from  that  of  the  organism.  A  long-continued  uniform 
environment  is  more  deteriorating  than  similarity  of  blood.  Persons 
who  remain  for  their  whole  lives,  and  their  descendants  after  them, 
in  the  same  spot,  surrounded  by  precisely  the  same  conditions,  and 
intermarry  with  others  doing  the  same,  and  who  continue  this  for  a 
series  of  generations,  deteriorate  mentally  at  least,  and  probably  also 
physically,  although  there  may  not  be  any  mixing  of  blood.  Their 
whole  lives,  physical,  mental,  and  moral,  become  fixed  and  monoto- 
nous, and  the  partners  chosen  for  continuing  the  race  have  nothing 
new  to  add  to  each  other's  stock.  There  is  no  variation  of  the  social 
monotony,  and  the  result  is  socially  the  same  as  close  consanguineal 
interbreeding.  On  the  other  hand,  a  case  in  which  a  man  should, 
without  knowing  it,  marry  his  own  sister,  after  they  had  been  long 
separated  and  living  under  widely  different  skies,  would  proba- 
bly entail  no  special  deterioration,  and  their  different  conditions  of 
life  would  have  produced  practically  the  same  effect  as  if  they  were 
not  related. 

The  transition  from  this  semi-physiological  aspect  of  the  subject 
to  the  wholly  sociological  one  is  easy.  The  cross  fertilization  of 
cultures  is  to  sociology  what  the  cross  fertilization  of  germs  is  to 
biology.  A  culture  is  a  social  structure,  a  social  organism,  if  any 
one  prefers,  and'ideas  are  its  germs.  These  may  be  mixed  or  crossed, 
and  the  effect  is  the  same  as  that  of  crossing  hereditary  strains. 
The  process  by  which  the  greater  part  of  this  has  been  accomplished, 


236  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

at  least  in  the  early  history  of  human  society,  is  the  struggle  of 
races.  In  the  last  chapter  we  discussed  this  phenomenon  from  one 
point  of  view.  We  saw  in  it  the  working  of  the  principle  of  social 
synergy,  equilibrating  antagonistic  social  forces  and  constructing 
human  institutions.  We  kept  as  completely  out  of  view  as  possible 
the  other  and  equally  important  point,  viz.,  the  simultaneous  and 
concomitant  working  of  the  principle  of  the  difference  of  potential. 
A  race  of  men  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  physical  system  possessing  a 
large  amount  of  potential  energy,  but  often  having  reached  such  a 
complete  state  of  equilibrium  that  it  is  incapable  of  performing  any 
but  the  normal  functions  of  growth  and  multiplication.  It  is  reduced 
by  the  very  principle  that  constructed  it  to  the  power  of  simple  repe- 
tition. Under  the  head  of  Social  Stagnation  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter  it  was  shown  that  most  savage  and  barbaric  races  are 
actually  in  this  state.  They  want  no  change  and  ask  for  nothing 
that  does  not  already  exist ;  nay  they  detest  and  consistently  oppose 
all  change.  If  it  were  left  to  the  initiative  of  such  races  there  never 
would  be  any  social  progress.  We  may  go  further  and  say  that  if  it 
were  left  to  the  deliberate  and  conscious  action  of  mankind  human 
progress  would  be  impossible.  Fortunately  there  are  great  cosmic, 
unconscious  principles  that  work  for  progress  against  the  eternal 
resistance  of  established  social  structures. 

By  sheer  force  of  circumstance,  by  the  exuberant  fertility  of 
mankind,  by  the  pushing  out  of  boundaries  to  avoid  overcrowding, 
by  wanderings  and  migrations,  different  races,  charged  with  poten- 
tial energy  locked  up  in  varied  cults  and  customs,  tongues  and 
tendencies,  experience  wholly  fortuitous  encounters  and  collisions, 
resulting  in  conflicts  and  conquests,  whereby  all  these  divergent 
idea-germs  are  first  hurled  promiscuously  together  and  then  rudely 
jostled  and  stirred  into  a  heterogeneous  menstruum  that  tends  to 
polarize  on  the  social  spindle,  but  ultimately  blends  in  the  manner 
described  under  the  head  of  Social  Karyokinesis.  Every  one  of  these 
social  Anlagen  thus  forced  into  intimate  relations  is  full  of  energy 
which  can  only  be  released  by  changing  its  potential,  and  this  is 
what  is  done  by  the  action  of  dissimilar  foreign  Anlagen  brought 
into  contact  with  them.  In  the  last  chapter  only  the  synergetic  or 
constructive  effects  of  the  struggle  of  races  were  described.  But 
the  social  equilibrium  thus  produced  is  always  a  moving  equilibrium. 
Without  destroying  the  structures  produced  by  social  synergy  a 


CH.  xi]  DIFFERENCE   OF   POTENTIAL  237 

molecular  or  differential  change  is  constantly  taking  place  whereby 
they  are  perpetually  changing  in  type  and  evolving  into  new  and 
higher  types  of  structure.  This  is  the  dynamic  movement  caused 
by  the  change  of  potential,  which  is  in  turn  the  result  of  the  cross 
fertilization  of  cultures. 

Progress  results  from  the  fusion  of  unlike  elements.  This  is 
creative,  because  from  it  there  results  a  third  something  which  is 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  but  different  from  both  and  something 
new  and  superior  to  either.  But  these  elements,  although  they 
must  be  unlike,  must  possess  a  certain  degree  of  similarity  so  as 
not  to  be  incompatible  and  unassimilable.  It  must  be  cross  fertiliza- 
tion and  not  hybridization.  All  cultures  are  supposed  to  be  assimi- 
lable. Whatever  is  human  must  have  some  points  of  agreement. 
Just  as  all  races  are  fertile  inter  se,  so  all  human  institutions  may 
be  regarded  as  belonging  to  the  same  species.  Still  there  are  some 
races  whose  culture  differs  so  widely  from  that  of  others  that  they 
seem  to  form  an  exception  to  this  law.  Such  differences  are,  how- 
ever, usually  differences  of  degree  and  result,  as  explained  in  the 
last  chapter,  from  differences  in  the  rank  or  order  of  the  two 
societies  as  measured  by  the  number  of  assimilations  which  they 
have  undergone.  They  are  theoretically,  but  not  practically  assimi- 
lable. The  one  has  so  little  potential  energy  that  it  produces  no 
appreciable  effect  on  the  other,  while  the  higher  civilization  imme- 
diately overwhelms,  engulfs,  and  absorbs,  or  destroys  the  lower. 

The  distinction  between  cross  fertilization  and  hybridization  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  effect  that  different  ideas  sometimes  produce. 
Let  a  Hegelian,  who  proceeds  from  the  standpoint  of  thought  or 
spirit,  attempt  to  discuss  any  philosophical  question  with  a  man 
of  science,  who  proceeds  from  the  standpoint  of  concrete  facts,  and 
they  will  make  no  headway.  They  cannot  understand  each  other. 
There  is  no  common  ground  to  stand  upon.  Their  ideas  will  no 
more  mix  than  oil  and  water.  They  are  infertile.  But  let  a 
zoologist  and  a  botanist  discuss  some  question  of  general  biology, 
the  data  for  which  are  found  in  both  the  organic  kingdoms,  and 
their  ideas  will  instantly  attract  and  supplement  each  other.  Each 
will  adduce  fresh  illustrations  from  his  own  field  that  will  illumi- 
nate those  of  the  other  and  they  will  harmonize  and  progress  per- 
fectly. In  a  word,  their  ideas  will  cross  fertilize  each  other.  It  is 
not  otherwise  with  human  societies  brought  into  contact. 


238  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [I-AKT  n 

Again,  anything  that  increases  social  activity,  especially  if  it 
affects  the  intensity  of  this  activity,  is  dynamic.  Thus  increase  of 
population,  in  and  of  itself,  is  not  dynamic,  but  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  the  "  dynamic  density"  of  population,  and  it  may  be  distinguished 
from  the  "  material  density." l  By  the  friction  of  mind  upon  mind, 
especially  in  a  mixed  population  of  a  certain  density,  there  is  pro- 
duced a  difference  of  potential  among  individuals  which  is  in  a  high 
degree  dynamic. 

It  is  impossible  in  dealing  with  this  subject  to  avoid  the  bearing 
of  war  and  peace  on  human  progress.  All  civilized  men  realize  the 
horrors  of  war,  and  if  sociology  has  any  utilitarian  purposes  one  of 
these  certainly  is  to  diminish  or  mitigate  these  horrors.  But  pure 
sociology  is  simply  an  inquiry  into  the  social  facts  and  conditions, 
and  has  nothing  to  do  with  utilitarian  purposes.  In  making  this 
objective  inquiry  it  finds  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  war  has  been  the 
chief  and  leading  condition  of  human  progress.  This  is  perfectly 
obvious  to  any  one  who  understands  the  meaning  of  the  struggle  of 
races.  When  races  stop  struggling  progress  ceases.  They  want  no 
progress  and  they  have  none.  For  all  primitive  and  early,  undevel- 
oped races,  certainly,  the  condition  of  peace  is  a  condition  of  social 
stagnation.  We  may  enlarge  to  our  soul's  content  on  the  blessings 
of  peace,  but  the  facts  remain  as  stated,  and  cannot  be  successfully 
disproved. 

As  regards  the  more  civilized  races,  this  much  at  least  must 
be  admitted.  The  inhabitants  of  southern,  central,  and  western 
Europe,  call  them  Aryan,  Indo-Germanic,  or  anything  you  please, 
and  irrespective  of  the  question  whether  their  history  can  be  traced 
back  and  their  origin  discovered  or  not,  have  led  the  civilization  of 
the  world  ever  since  there  were  any  records.  They  are  and  have 
been  throughout  all  this  time  the  repository  of  the  highest  culture, 
they  have  the  largest  amount  of  social  efficiency,  they  have  achieved 
the  most,  and  they  represent  the  longest  uninterrupted  inheritance 
and  transmission  of  human  achievement.  The  several  nations  into 
which  this  race  is  now  divided  are  the  products  of  compound  assimila- 
tion of  a  higher  order  than  that  of  other  nations.  As  a  consequence 

1  Cf.  l£mile  Durkheim,  "  Les  Regies  de  la  Methode  sociologique,"  2e  ed.,  Paris, 
1901,  pp.  139-140.  This  question  was  also  ably  discussed  by  M.  Adolphe  Coste 
in  one  of  his  very  last  contributions  to  sociology,  "  Le  Facteur  Population  dans 
revolution  sociale,"  Rev.  Int.  de  Sociologie,  9«  Annee,  Aout-Septembre,  1901,  pp. 
569-612. 


CH.  xi]  DIFFERENCE   OF   POTENTIAL  239 

of  all  this  this  race  has  become  the  dominant  race  of  the  globe.  As 
such  it  has  undertaken  the  work  of  extending  its  dominion  over 
other  parts  of  the  earth.  It  has  already  spread  over  the  whole  of 
South  and  North  America,  over  Australia,  and  over  Southern  Africa. 
It  has  gained  a  firm  foothold  on  Northern  Africa,  Southern  and 
Eastern  Asia,  and  most  of  the  larger  islands  and  archipelagos  of 
the  sea.  It  is  only  necessary  to  understand  the  modern  history  of 
the  world  and  the  changes  in  the  map  of  the  world  to  see  this. 

Much  of  this  has  been  peacefully  accomplished,  but  whenever 
any  of  the  races  previously  occupying  this  territory  has  raised  any 
obstacle  to  the  march  of  the  dominant  race  the  latter  has  never  hesi- 
tated to  employ  force  or  resort  to  war.  Certain  tender-hearted  per- 
sons have  almost  always  uttered  a  faint  protest  against  it,  but  it  has 
been  utterly  powerless  to  stem  the  current.  Consider  for  a  moment 
the  settlement  of  North  America  by  Europeans.  It  has  been  almost 
universally  felt  that  it  must  be  done,  and  any  objection  on  the 
ground  of  the  prior  occupancy  of  the  native  races  has  been  looked 
upon  as  mere  sentimentality.  There  have  been  so-called  treaties  and 
purchases  and  bargains  with  the  savages,  but  with  such  odds  in  intel- 
ligence and  shrewdness,  as  well  as  in  advantage,  that  they  amounted 
to  no  more  than  pretense.  The  white  man  fixed  the  terms  and  if 
the  red  man  declined  them  he  was  simply  coerced.  If  they  had  all 
been  rejected  the  result  would  have  been  the  same.  From  such 
transactions  the  element  of  justice  is  wholly  excluded.  It  is  only 
another  form  of  conquest.  Indeed,  the  whole  movement  by  which 
the  master  race  of  the  planet  has  extended  its  dominion  over  inferior 
races  differs  not  the  least  in  principle  from  the  primitive  movement 
described  in  the  last  chapter.  The  effects  are  different  only  because 
of  the  great  disparity  in  the  races  engaged,  due  in  turn  to  the 
superior  social  efficiency  of  the  dominant  race. 

Under  the  operation  of  such  a  cosmical  principle  it  seems  a  waste 
of  breath  to  urge  peace,  justice,  humanity,  and  yet  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  these  moral  forces  are  gaining  strength  and  slowly  miti- 
gating the  severity  of  the  law  of  nature.  But  mitigation  is  all  that 
can  be  hoped  for.  The  movement  must  go  on,  and  there  seems  no 
place  for  it  to  stop  until,  just  as  man  has  gained  dominion  over  the 
animal  world,  so  the  highest  type  of  man  shall  gain  dominion  over 
all  the  lower  types  of  man.  The  greater  part  of  the  peace  agitation 
is  characterized  by  total  blindness  to  all  these  broader  cosmic  facts 


240  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

and  principles,  and  this  explains  its  complete  impotence.  There  is 
a  certain  kind  of  over-culture  which  instead  of  widening  narrows  the 
mental  horizon.  It  is  a  mark  of  an  effete  mind  to  exaggerate  small 
things  while  ignoring  great  things.  Maudlin  sentimentality  and 
inconsistent  sympathy,  thinking  on  problems  of  the  world  without 
discrimination  or  perspective,  incapacity  to  scent  the  drift  of  events 
or  weigh  the  relative  gravity  of  heterogeneous  and  unequal  facts, 
are  qualities  that  dominate  certain  minds  which,  from  culture  and 
advantages,  gain  the  credit  of  constituting  the  cream  of  the  most 
advanced  intelligence.  Far  safer  guides  are  the  crude  instincts  of 
the  general  public  in  the  same  communities.  If  the  peace  mission- 
aries could  have  made  their  counsels  prevail  there  might  have  been 
universal  peace,  nay,  general  contentment,  but  there  would  have 
been  no  progress.  The  social  pendulum  would  have  swung  through 
a  shorter  and  shorter  arc  until  at  last  it  would  have  come  to  rest, 
the  difference  of  potential  would  have  grown  smaller  and  smaller 
until  it  reached  the  zero  point,  and  all  movement  in  the  social  equi- 
librium would  have  ceased.  Whatever  may  be  best  for  the  future 
when  society  shall  become  self-conscious  and  capable  of  devising  its 
own  means  of  keeping  up  the  difference  of  potential,  thus  far  war 
and  struggle  with  all  that  they  imply  have  been  the  blind  uncon- 
scious means  by  which  nature  has  secured  this  result,  and  by  which 
a  dynamic  condition  has  been  produced  and  kept  up. 

Attention  has  thus  far  been  confined  to  those  primary  social 
structures  called  races,  nations,  etc.,  which  constitute  the  forms  of 
human  association.  There  are  other  almost  equally  important 
aspects  of  the  subject  having  their  roots  in  other  classes  of  facts, 
and  to  these  we  may  now  turn  our  attention. 

Innovation.  —  The  dynamic  principle  next  in  importance  to  that  of 
difference  of  potential  is  what  I  prefer  to  call  innovation.  Its  bio- 
logical homologue  is  the  sport.  This  is  only  possible  in  sexual 
reproduction,  and  is  probably  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the 
hereditary  elements  (Anlageri)  may  remain  undeveloped  during 
many  generations  and  suddenly  appear  in  offspring  whose  parents 
do  not  possess  the  given  qualities,  but  in  whom  they  have  lain 
latent  as  well  as  in  several  generations  of  their  ancestors.  These 
then  seem  to  be  new  elements,  and  are  called  sports.  This  may 
appear  to  be  only  an  accidental  and  subsidiary  consideration,  but  in 
its  broader  aspect  it  takes  the  form  of  what  I  have  called  fortuitous 


CH.  xi]  INNOVATION  241 

variation,  an  expression  used  by  Darwin,  Spencer,  Romanes,  Cope, 
and  others,  but  not  always  given  its  full  significance.  I  am  free  to 
confess  that  I  studied  botany  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  trying  to 
arrive  at  the  laws  and  principles  of  vegetable  life,  and  with  little 
interest  in  plant  forms  as  such.  From  the  beginning  of  my  botani- 
cal investigations  I  was  struck  with  the  manifestations  of  the  prin- 
ciple of  fortuitous  variation,  and  I  finally  undertook  to  illustrate 
and  formulate  the  principle.  On  Dec.  15,  1888,  I  read  a  paper 
before  the  Biological  Society  of  Washington  on:  "Fortuitous  Varia- 
tion, as  illustrated  by  the  Genus  Eupatorium,"  which  I  illustrated 
by  a  large  series  of  specimens  collected  by  myself,  having  in  each 
case  carefully  noted  the  habitat.  This  paper,  which  was  not  written, 
should  have  been  published  with  the  illustrations,  but  I  had  not  the 
facilities  for  this,  and  contented  myself  with  sending  a  brief  abstract 
of  it  to  Nature,  which  appeared  in  that  journal  for  July  25,  1889 
(Vol.  XL,  p.  310).  I  shall  not  introduce  here  the  technical  part  even 
of  this  note,  but  as  it  is  now  wholly  forgotten,  I  will  revive  it  by 
quoting  a  part  of  the  concluding  portion  in  which  I  attempted  to 
explain  the  cause  of  fortuitous  variation. 

Organized  or  living  matter  constantly  tends  to  increase  in  quantity,  which 
may  be  regarded  as  the  true  end  of  organic  being,  to  which  the  perfection 
of  structure,  commonly  mistaken  for  such  end,  is  only  one  of  the  means. 
Every  organic  element  may  be  contemplated  as  occupying  the  center  of  a 
sphere,  toward  the  periphery  of  which,  in  all  directions  alike,  it  seeks  to 
expand,  and  would  expand  but  for  physical  obstructions  which  present 
themselves.  The  forms  which  have  succeeded  in  surviving  are  those,  and 
only  those,  that  were  possible  under  existing  conditions ;  that  is,  they  have 
been  developed  along  the  lines  of  least  resistance,  pressure  along  all  other 
lines  having  resulted  in  failure.  Now,  the  various  forms  of  vegetable  and 
animal  life  represent  the  latest  expression  of  this  law,  the  many  possible, 
and  the  only  possible,  results  of  this  universal  nisus  of  organic  being.  The 
different  forms  of  Eupatorium,  or  of  any  other  plant  or  animal,  that  are 
found  co-existing  under  identical  conditions  merely  show  that  there  were 
many  lines  along  which  the  resistance  was  not  sufficient  to  prevent  develop- 
ment. They  are  the  successes  of  nature. 

I  disclaim  any  desire  to  discredit  or  impair  in  any  way  the  great  law  of 
natural  selection.  The  most  important  variations,  those  which  lead  up  to 
higher  types  of  structure,  are  the  result  of  that  law,  which  therefore  really 
explains  organic  evolution ;  but  the  comprehension  and  acceptance  of  both 
natural  selection  and  evolution  are  retarded  instead  of  being  advanced  by 
claiming  for  the  former  more  than  it  can  explain,  and  it  might  as  well  be 
recognized  first  as  last  that  a  great  part  —  numerically  by  far  the  greater 


242  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

part  —  of  the  variety  and  multiplicity,  as  well  as  the  interest  and  charm  of 
Nature,  is  due  to  another  and  quite  distinct  law,  which,  with  the  above 
qualifications,  may  perhaps  be  appropriately  called  "  the  law  of  fortuitous 
variation." 

At  least  one  biologist  of  note,  Mr.  George  J.  Romanes,  was 
attracted  by  this  paper,  and  urged  me  to  follow  the  subject  up 
experimentally,  which  I  was  unable  to  do.  He  brought  it  to  the 
attention  of  the  Biological  Section  of  the  British  Association  for  the 
Advancement  of  Science  the  same  year,  as  in  line  with  his  doctrine 
of  "  physiological  selection  "  and  what  he  had  called  "  unusef ul "  or 
"  non-utilitarian  "  characters.  I  returned  to  the  subject  in  my  address 
as  president  of  the  Biological  Society  of  Washington  in  January, 
1890,  dealing  somewhat  more  at  length  with  the  philosophical  aspect, 
and  concluding  as  follows :  — 

Here  then  we  have  the  solution  of  by  far  the  worst  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  natural  selection.  The  beneficial  effect  need  not  be  assumed  to  begin  at 
the  initial  stage.  It  need  not  be  felt  until  well-formed  varieties  have  been 
developed  without  regard  to  any  advantage  in  the  particular  differences 
which  they  present.  There  seems  to  be  no  flaw  in  this  mode  of  solving  this 
paramount  problem,  and  if  it  is  objected  that  it  amounts  to  a  new  explana- 
tion of  the  origin  of  species,  I  am  ready  to  admit  it,  and  I  believe  that  more 
species  are  produced  by  fortuitous  variation  than  by  natural  selection. 
Natural  selection  is  not  primarily  the  cause  of  the  origin  of  species;  its 
mission  is  far  higher.  It  is  the  cause  of  the  origin  of  types  of  structure.1 

It  might  be  supposed  that  fortuitous  variation  as  thus  explained 
was  something  quite  apart  from  the  phenomena  of  sports,  but  this  is 
because  in  these  papers  I  did  not  attempt  to  go  into  the  specific 
causes  of  such  variations.  The  chief  cause  of  organic  variation,  as 
already  shown  in  this  chapter,  is  sex.  When  treating  of  sex  as  a 
device  of  nature  for  producing  a  difference  of  potential  I  did  not  go 
beyond  the  primary  dualism  of  the  parental  strains.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent that  for  any  developed  organism  with  a  long  phylogeny  the 
number  of  atavistic  stirps  must  be  next  to  infinite,  and  as  any  of 
these  are  liable  to  lie  latent  during  many  generations  and  crop  out 
at  any  time,  the  possibilities  of  fortuitous  variation  are  enormous. 
This  is  the  inner  explanation  of  fortuitous  variation,  and  is  the  way 
in  which  nature  fills  every  crack,  chink,  and  cranny  into  which  it  is 
possible  for  life  to  be  thrust. 

i  Proc.  Biol.  Soc.  Washington,  Vol.  V,  1890,  p.  44. 


CH.  xi]  INNOVATION  243 

I  am  not  at  this  writing  acquainted  except  at  second  hand  with 
the  exhaustive  work  of  Professor  Hugo  de  Vries  entitled :  "  Die 
Mutationstheorie  "  (Leipzig,  1901),  but  from  all  accounts  I  have  seen 
of  it  I  infer  that  he  is  working  at  this  same  problem,  and  that  his 
theory  will  not  be  found  to  differ  widely  from  my  own  as  above 
stated,  although  no  one  can  make  extended  observations  in  such  a 
promising  field  without  discovering  the  necessity  of  qualifying,  and 
of  both  restricting  and  enlarging  the  attempts  of  others  to  formulate 
the  truth  that  underlies  all  the  phenomena. 

It  matters  not  by  what  name  we  designate  it,  whenever  the  life 
force  breaks  over  the  bounds  of  simple  heredity  and  goes  beyond 
the  process  of  merely  repeating  and  multiplying  the  structures  that 
have  already  been  created,  it  becomes  innovation  and  changes  the 
type  of  structure.  In  biologic  language  this  is  variation,  and  all 
variation  is  dynamic.  Variation  due  to  mere  exuberance  of  life  is 
quite  as  much  so  as  when  due  to  other  causes.  These  erratic  sports, 
these  leaps  and  bounds  of  a  throbbing,  pulsating,  exultant  nature, 
under  the  life-giving  power  of  sunshine  and  shower,  produce  a 
perpetual  rejuvenescence  and  call  back  into  life  and  activity  all 
the  myriad  germ-plasms  that  have  been  pushed  aside  in  the  march 
of  heredity  and  which  line  the  wayside  of  evolution.  These  con- 
stitute an  inexhaustible  source  of  fresh  variations,  combining  and 
recombining  in  an  endless  series  of  ever  changing  forms.  Such 
are  the  conditions  and  methods  of  organic  innovation,  with  which 
utility,  advantage,  and  fitness  to  survive  have  nothing  to  do. 

Social  innovation  proceeds  upon  the  same  principle,  and  although 
the  immediate  conditions  and  accompanying  circumstances  may  ap- 
pear very  different,  we  have  only  to  abstract  the  details  and  general- 
ize the  phenomena  to  perceive  the  fundamental  unity  of  process. 
Social  innovation  has  been  called  invention  by  Tarde  and  impulse 
by  Patten.1  Tarde  has  so  fully  explained  and  illustrated  the  prin- 
ciple that  there  is  no  possibility  of  misunderstanding  him.  Patten 
states  it  so  obscurely  that  in  reading  his  book  I  missed  it  entirely, 
and  would  never  have  known  what  he  meant  if  he  had  not  ex- 
plained it  to  me  orally.  The  phenomenon  is  psychic  and  involves 
the  whole  of  mind.  Invention  unduly  emphasizes  the  intellectual 
side  and  impulse  the  feeling  side.  Innovation  avoids  both  these 
extremes.  The  tendency  in  social,  as  in  organic  structures  is  simply 
i  "  Theory  of  Prosperity,"  by  Simon  N.  Patten,  New  York,  1902,  pp.  180  ff. 


244  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

to  conserve  and  reproduce;  it  is  to  copy  and  repeat,  grow  and 
multiply,  but  always  to  retain  the  same  structures.  In  both  depart- 
ments the  normal  process  is  simple  metabolism,  and  social  metabolism 
would  never  any  more  than  physiological,  produce  a  new  structure. 
But  in  society  as  in  organisms  there  is  a  surplus  of  energy  that 
must  be  worked  off.  This  is  not,  however,  universally  diffused. 
It  is  a  somewhat  exceptional  product.  The  great  mass  have  no 
energy  to  spare  beyond  the  bare  needs  of  existence.  But  nature 
always  produces  irregularities  and  inequalities.  Its  method  is  ut- 
terly devoid  of  economy.  It  heaps  up  in  one  place  and  tears  away 
in  another.  There  is  a  law  which  Spencer  has  called  the  "  multipli- 
cation of  effects."  Action  begun  in  a  certain  direction  tends  more 
and  more  to  go  in  that  direction  until  all  homogeneity  is  destroyed. 
Advantage  creates  advantage.  The  smallest  fissure  through  a  dam 
helps  on  the  work  of  enlarging  that  fissure  until  the  dam  is  under- 
mined and  swept  away.  The  least  groove  on  a  mountain  slope 
causes  this  to  become  the  center  of  erosion  and  makes  a  gorge.  The 
more  a  river  bends  the  more  it  wears  and  the  bend  is  cumula- 
tively increased.  The  same  law  works  in  society.  Extremes  breed 
extremes,  and  a  state  of  equality,  if  it  could  be  conceived  to  exist, 
would  be  ephemeral.  A  state  of  inequality  would  quickly  replace 
it.  So  that  while  all  the  social  energy  if  equally  distributed  might 
leave  a  very  small  surplus  to  each  member  of  society,  the  actual 
case  is  :  vast  numbers  in  whom  the  social  energy  is  below  the  level 
of  healthy  activity  and  small  groups  in  whom  it  is  far  above  the 
possibility  of  ever  consuming  it.  Surplus  social  energy  is  confined  to 
these  favored  groups,  and  all  social  innovation  emanates  from  them. 
We  saw  in  the  last  chapter  how  human  association  was  brought 
about.  We  did  not,  however,  penetrate  into  the  inner  workings  of 
the  principle  of  social  synergy.  The  great  fact  of  human  slavery 
had  to  be  dismissed  with  a  sentence.  A  word  to  the  wise  was 
sufficient.  The  historian  has  too  often  told  this  story.  The  his- 
torian has  also  fully  described  the  system  of  caste,  but  usually 
without  giving  any  idea  of  its  cause,  or  else  a  wrong  idea.  Nor 
has  he  neglected  the  fact  of  a  leisure  class,  and  often  he  has  cor- 
rectly portrayed  the  advantages  that  have  accrued  to  the  world 
from  the  leisure  class.  Our  present  task  is  to  point  out  that  social 
innovation  has  been  largely  due  to  this  form  of  social  inequality. 
Not  wholly,  however,  and  it  is  only  necessary  that  the  primary 


CH.  xi]  INNOVATION  245 

wants  be  supplied  without  exhausting  the  social  energy  for  it  to 
crop  out  in  the  form  of  innovation.  There  is  a  social  bathmism  or 
growth  force  which  ever  presses.  Physical  wants  must  be  supplied, 
and  most  of  this  energy  is  thus  expended,  but  everything  goes  to 
show  that  the  moment  this  is  done  this  energy  overflows  in  the 
direction  of  doing  something  new.  This  overflow,  too,  takes  all 
conceivable  forms  and  by  far  the  greater  part  of  it  is  utterly 
wasted,  often  more  than  wasted.  One  only  needs  to  read  Professor 
Veblen's  book J  to  see  that  this  is  so,  but  he  intentionally  left  out 
of  view  the  other  side,  and  he  would  probably  agree  that  there  is 
another  side.  It  only  helps  to  emphasize  two  truths:  the  non- 
economical  character  of  all  of  nature's  processes,  and  the  small 
amount  of  energy  that  really  makes  for  evolution  or  social  progress. 
The  apparently  large  gains  in  this  direction  are  due  to  the  almost 
unlimited  time  that  there  has  been  in  which  to  realize  them. 

It  is  our  task  to  consider  the  other  side  and  show,  not  what  the. 
leisure  class  has  done  for  human  progress, ,  because  -  others  have 
already  done  that,  but  more  specifically  how,  it  has  done  it.  Mr. 
Veblen  himself  has  given  us  the  key  to  the  whole  process.  It  is  his 
"  instinct  of  workmanship,"  which  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the 
dynamic  principle  of  innovation.  The  odium:  of  labor,  as  he  has  so 
ingeniously  shown,  is  something  conventional  and  artificial.  If  body 
or  mind  is  not  fatigued  with  the  effort  required  to  satisfy  the  needs 
of  existence,  activity  in ,  either  is  pleasurable.  As  was  shown  in 
Chapter  V,  not  only  is  all  normal  exercise  of  the  faculties  a  satisfac- 
tion, but  at  bottom  all  pleasure,  all  enjoyment,  and  all  good  consist 
in  the  normal  exercise  of  the  faculties.  All  want; and  all  pain,  and 
the  whole  of  the  so-called  Weltschmerz,  are  due  to  .restraints  of  one 
kind  or  another  to  such  exercise.  When  there  .is  .no  other  form  olj 
this  pain  there  remains  the  form  called  ennui,  .which  is  the  mosl? 
intolerable  of  all,  and  which  is  the  chief  form  in  which  it  is  experi- 
enced by  the  leisure  class.  They  must  work  or  suffer  unendurable, 
torture.  Normally  they  will  follow  the  instinct  of  workmanship 
and  do  something  useful.  So  long  as  work  is  respectable,  i.e.,  sq 
long  as  there  is  entailed  by  it  no  loss  of  caste,  it  will  be  done.  The 
late  lamented  M.  Adolphe  Coste  has  clearly  shown2  that  employ  T 

1  "  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,"  by  Thorstein  Veblen,  New  York,  1899. 

2  "Les  Principes  d'une  Sociologie  Objective,"  Paris,  1899,  pp.  114-115;  "L'Ex- 
pe'rience  des  Peuples  et  les  Provisions  qu'elle  autorise,"  Paris,  1900,  pp.  200-201. 


246  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

ments  which  are  now  exclusively  followed  by  the  "  working  class  " 
and  which  no  "  gentleman  of  leisure "  would  deign  to  engage  in, 
were  boasted  of  by  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  many  of  whom  were 
skilled  forgers,  masons,  carpenters,  tanners,  and  dyers,  as  well  as 
warriors  and  hunters.  And  when  we  reflect  how  intimately  skilled 
labor  is  connected  with  invention,  who  can  estimate  the  loss  that  the 
world  has  suffered  by  that  pure  conventionality  which  relegates  all 
skilled  labor  to  the  mentally  least  developed  and  least  equipped 
classes  of  society  ?  For  labor  in  and  of  itself  is  not  dynamic. 
Most  of  the  labor  done  in  the  world  is  purely  static.  It  simply 
reproduces  after  the  set  pattern.  It  multiplies  exact  copies  of  what 
has  been  invented.  It  is  imitation  in  the  Tardean  sense.  Such  is 
nearly  all  unskilled  labor  in  all  departments  of  industry.  Such 
is  also  most  so-called  skilled  labor,  for  the  laborer  only  learns  to 
make  or  do  one  thing  over  and  over  again  in  exactly  the  same  way. 
Outside  of  his  "trade"  he  is  utterly  inefficient,  and  when  a  new 
machine  robs  him  of  his  trade  he  is  thrown  out  of  employment  and 
has  nothing  that  he  can  do.  Such,  too,  is  all  menial  service  and 
routine  work,  most  of  the  work  that  relates  to  cleanliness,  washing, 
scrubbing,  scouring,  dusting,  sweeping,  brushing;  most  of  the  work 
of  women  in  civilized  countries,  the  eternal  round  of  feeding  and 
caring  for  mankind.  In  this  there  has  been  degeneracy,  for  among 
savages  not  only  the  skilled  labor  but  also  the  invention  is  done  by 
women  as  well  as  by  men.  Finally  most  charity  and  philanthropic 
work  is  static,  and  philanthropists  are  content  to  alleviate  present 
suffering  by  temporary  action,  when  they  know  that  it  will  have  to 
be  done  again  and  again.  Many  such  would  disparage  a  reformer 
who  should  suggest  a  general  policy  that  would  if  carried  out  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  the  conditions  that  call  for  charity.  Statical  work 
has  been  happily  called  a  web  of  Penelope.  Its  usefulness,  how- 
ever>  cannot  be  questioned,  since  through  it  alone  can  the  status  quo 
be  maintained.  It  is  the  conservative  force  of  society,  preventing 
the  loss  of  the  progress  attained,  and  it  must  always  absorb  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  all  the  social  energy. 

What  then  is  dynamic  action  ?  It  is  that  which  goes  beyond  mere 
repetition.  It  is  heuristic.  It  discovers  new  ways.  It  is  Spencer's 
"fructifying  causation."  It  is  alteration,  modification,  variation. 
When  applied  to  production  it  produces  according  to  a  geometrical 
instead  of  an  arithmetical  progression.  But  it  need  not  necessarily 


CH.  xi]  CONATION  247 

be  invention.  It  may  be  impulse,  as  Dr.  Patten  says,  exuberance 
and  overflow  of  spirits,  of  emotion,  of  passion  even,  which  will  not 
brook  constraint  and  dashes  forward  to  higher  and  greater  results. 
Dynamic  action  is  progressive,  and,  instead  of  leaving  the  world 
in  the  same  condition  as  before,  leaves  it  in  a  changed,  i.e.,  in  an  im- 
proved condition.  The  final  criterion  of  a  dynamic  action  is  achieve- 
ment in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  was  used  in  the  third  and  fifth 
chapters,  and  every  innovation,  however  slight,  constitutes  an  incre- 
ment to  the  world's  achievement.  It  is  so  much  permanently  gained, 
it  can  never  be  lost,  and  does  not  have  to  be  done  again.  It  consti- 
tutes the  means  of  producing  something  better  than  could  have  been 
produced  before,  and  this  product  is  rendered  perpetual  by  its  con- 
tinual reproduction  through  imitation  or  social  heredity.  This  is 
not  innovation,  which  differs  totally  from  it  in  the  fact  that  its 
repetition  would  be  a  contradiction  of  terms.  Every  innovation 
is  something  different  from  every  other.  There  can  be  only  one 
innovation  in  the  same  sense,  although  progress  consists  of  many 
series  of  innovations  in  the  same  direction. 

Conation.  —  We  are  now  prepared  to  consider  the  third  dynamic 
principle,  which  I  call  conation.  These  dynamic  principles  are  all 
related,  and  the  order  in  which  they  have  been  treated  is  the  natural 
order.  Innovation  could  not  be  advantageously  explained  until  the 
general  principle  of  cross  fertilization  of  cultures  had  been  shown  to 
be  the  essential  condition  to  that  unconscious  progress  which  made 
invention  possible.  And  now,  as  we  shall  see,  conation  or  social 
effort  could  not  be  understood  without  a  clear  conception  of  the  true 
nature  of  a  dynamic  action,  which  is  the  essential  condition  to  inno- 
vation. The  crossing  of  cultures  is  the  most  fundamental  of  the 
dynamic  principles.  It  is  a  social  principle,  but  it  is  at  the  same 
time  organic.  It  goes  to  the  essence  of  social  structures  and  works 
changes  in  their  very  type  and  nature,  selecting  and  preserving  all 
that  is  best  in  the  different  structures  thus  blended,  and  creating  a 
new  structure  which  is  different  from  and  superior  to  any  of  the 
prior  existing  structures.  It  does  this,  as  we  have  seen,  without  de- 
stroying the  structures  out  of  which  the  new  structure  is  formed. 
The  state  of  equilibrium  established  by  social  synergy  in  producing 
the  old  structures  is  converted  into  a  moving  equilibrium  developing 
higher  structures.  Innovation  is  a  part  of  this  process,  and  is  not 
to  be  considered  as  a  separate  movement.  It  is  a  partial  explanation 


248  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

of  how  the  changes  take  place.  In  studying  it  we  simply  go  deeper 
into  the  details  of  the  process  and  learn  to  distinguish  the  strictly 
dynamic  from  the  wholly  static  elements  of  social  activity.  It  con- 
sists in  dynamic  actions.  Finally  in  studying  conation  we  proceed 
one  step  further  in  our  analysis  and  seek  to  discover  what  it  is  that 
makes  an  action  dynamic.  Or,  still  more  accurately  stated,  we  ana- 
lyze action  itself  and  seek  to  determine  what  part  of  it  is  dynamic, 
for  in  a  certain  sense  no  action  is  wholly  dynamic.  There  are,  how- 
ever, many  actions  which  contain  no  dynamic  element,  and  therefore 
we  have  to  do  here  only  with  such  actions  as  do  contain  a  dynamic 
element. 

Let  us  therefore  select  any  action  in  which  a  dynamic  element 
resides  and  subject  it  to  a  rigid  analysis.  It  makes  no  difference  what 
the  action  is  if  it  is  one  that  leaves  society  in  a  state  different  from 
that  which  existed  before  it  was  performed,  presumably  in  an  im- 
proved state,  however  slight  that  improvement  may  be.  We  have  to 
consider  the  several  effects  of  such  an  action,  for  nearly  every  action 
has  more  than  one  effect.  These  effects  are  the  essential  things,  and 
the  question  always  is  whether  any  of  them  are  dynamic,  and  if  so 
which  ones.  We  assume  that  the  action  selected  for  analysis  has 
fcome  dynamic  effects  as  well  as  some  static  effects.  A  close  inspec- 
tion will  show  that  actions  are  much  alike  in  these  respects,  and  that 
all  dynamic  actions  have  about  the  same  general  effects.  Leaving 
out  of  account  all  accidental  and  unessential  consequences  of  such  an 
action  we  shall  find  that  it  always  has  three  necessary  and  essential 
effects,  viz. :  — 

1.  To  satisfy  desire. 

2.  To  preserve  or  continue  life. 

3.  To  modify  the  surroundings. 

We  will  consider  each  of  these  effects  in  and  for  itself  and  wholly 
separate  from  the  rest.  This  is  difficult  to  do  on  account  of  their 
obvious  interrelations  and  mutual  associations,  and  most  of  the  faulty 
logic  and  confusion  of  ideas,  i.e.,  of  the  error  on  this  and  kindred 
subjects,  is  due  to  the  failure  to  keep  these  distinct  effects  separate 
in  the  mind.  Let  us  examine  the  first  effect :  to  satisfy  desire.  I 
place  this  first  as  it  is  the  condition  itself  to  the  action.  Every 
action  whatever  must  have  this  object,  otherwise  there  is  no  motive, 
i.e.,  no  cause.  We  need  not  discuss  the  question  whether  the  action 
actually  satisfies  desire.  We  may  assume  that  it  does  and  proceed, 


CH.  xi]  CONATION  249 

but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  must,  for  the  desire,  so  far  as  we  are  con- 
cerned here,  is  simply  to  act  in  the  direction  in  which  the  desire 
impels,  and  that  is  in  itself  the  satisfaction  of  the  desire.  Nothing 
beyond  this  need  be  taken  into  the  account.  But  we  will  suppose 
that  this  part  of  the  action  is  wholly  successful  and  that  the  satis- 
faction sought  is  attained.  The  only  question  that  concerns  the 
present  discussion  is  whether  this  effect  of  the  action  is  dynamic  or 
not.  If  we  cling  strictly  to  this  one  fact  and  keep  all  its  associa- 
tions wholly  out  of  the  way,  we  can  clearly  see  that  the  simple  satis- 
faction of  the  individual's  desire  contains  no  dynamic  element.  It 
is,  in  fact,  purely  physiological.  It  is  also  transient.  A  desire,  as 
we  have  seen,  when  satisfied  is  terminated.  Until  the  satisfaction 
commences  it  is  a  painful  sensation,  during  the  period  of  satisfaction 
it  is  a  pleasure,  enjoyment,  happiness,  or  whatever  we  may  call  it. 
After  satisfaction  it  is  nothing.  However  great  the  individual  good, 
the  social  good  is  purely  statical.  Permanence  can  only  be  attained 
through  indefinite  repetition,  which  is  impossible,  and  if  possible 
would  still  be  statical.  We  may  therefore  dismiss  this  first  effect  as 
statical. 

Now  as  to  the  second  effect.  If  the  individual  is  at  all  adjusted 
to  his  environment  his  action  will  contribute  in  some  degree  either 
to  the  preservation  or  the  continuance  of  life.  At  the  lower  animal 
stages,  as  we  saw  in  Chapter  V,  all  desires  are  adapted  to  the  needs 
of  the  creature  and  their  satisfaction  conduces  to  the  life  of  either 
the  individual  or  the  species.  Any  continuous  tendency  to  the  con- 
trary would  result  in  the  death  of  the  former  or  the  extinction  of  the 
latter.  It  is  not  really  otherwise  with  society.  We  have  fully 
shown  how  everything  in  society  works  for  the  conservation  of  the 
group  and  the  race,  and  how  the  wayward  tendencies  of  mankind 
have  been  subjected  to  natural  and  spontaneous  restraints  in  the 
interest  of  social  order.  This  social  adaptation  is  well-nigh  as  com- 
plete as  organic  adaptation,  and  it  would  be  impossible  for  any 
considerable  number  of  men  to  persist  in  anti-social  acts  for  any 
considerable  time  without  disrupting  society  altogether.  If  such 
has  ever  been  the  case  such  societies  have  perished  and  are  unknown. 
Human  desires  are  therefore  more  or  less  completely  adjusted  to  in- 
dividual and  social  needs,  and  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  satisfac- 
tion of  any  normal  desire  also  contributes  in  some  degree  to  the 
preservation  of  the  life  of  the  individual  or  of  other  individuals 


250  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

(wife,  children,  family,  etc.),  or  to  the  maintenance  of  society,  or 
both.  Here  again  the  question  for  us  is  whether  this  effect  of  the 
action  is  or  is  not  dynamic.  The  answer  is  that  the  preservation  of 
life  and  social  order  are  not  dynamic  effects.  This  is  too  self-evi- 
dent to  require  any  argument,  and  we  may  content  ourselves  with 
pointing  out  that  the  two  effects  thus  far  considered  differ  in  two 
important  respects.  The  first  is  conscious,  the  second  unconscious, 
and  while  neither  can  be  called  direct,  the  second  is  clearly  indirect, 
and,  as  it  were,  incidental.  It  is  the  type  of  the  class  of  effects 
that  were  characterized  as  "unintended"  (see  supra,  p.  114).  In 
fact,  it  is  precisely  similar  in  this  respect  to  the  phenomena  of  nutri- 
tion and  reproduction  in  the  organic  world,  and  belongs,  like  them, 
to  the  "objects  of  nature,"  as  distinguished  from  the  object  of  the 
individual,  which  in  both  cases  is  the  satisfaction  of  desire. 

Finally,  let  us  consider  the  third  effect,  viz.,  that  of  modifying  the 
surroundings.  From  one  point  of  view,  viz.,  that  of  the  order  of 
time,  this  is  the  first  effect  of  the  action,  but  I  put  it  last  as  being 
the  most  incidental  and  non-essential  of  all  the  effects.  It  is  easy 
to  conceive  of  an  action  which  should  have  no  such  effect.  If  the 
desire  is  for  something  very  easily  attainable,  something  practically 
in  contact  with  the  individual,  with  no  intervening  obstacles,  or 
with  nothing  but  simple  space  between,  which  can  be  traversed  with- 
out moving  anything  but  his  own  body  or  limbs,  it  will  be  satisfied 
and  have  its  indirect  or  functional  effect  without  causing  any  percep- 
tible modification  of  the  surroundings.  The  action  would  then  have 
only  the  first  and  second  effects,  neither  of  which  being  dynamic,  it 
would  not  be  a  dynamic  action  at  all,  which  is  contrary  to  our 
hypothesis.  But  if  there  are  any  obstacles  or  obstructions  in  the 
way  of  the  satisfaction  of  desire  the  first  part  of  the  action  is  to 
remove  these,  and  this  modifies  the  surroundings  to  that  extent.  It 
is  obvious  that  while  there  may  be  very  simple  degrees  of  this  con- 
dition, there  may  be  and  are  also  all  conceivable  degrees  of  difficulty 
and  complexity  in  the  interval  between  the  desire  and  its  satisfac- 
tion. When  we  consider  developed  man  with  some  capacity  for 
"looking  before  and  after"  we  can  readily  see  that  most  of  his 
actions  are  thus  complex,  and  that  very  few  of  his  desires  can  be 
satisfied  without  first  making  considerable  modification  in  his  sur- 
roundings. This  quality  increases  with  his  general  development 
and  with  the  increasing  number  and  growing  complexity  of  his 


CH.  xi]  CONATION  251 

desires.  When  at  last  Ms  desires,  like  those  of  most  civilized  men, 
become  chiefly  spiritual  and  intellectual,  usually  remote  either  in 
space  or  time,  it  is  necessary  both  to  work  and  to  wait,  and  this 
involves  prolonged  and  intense  activity.  All  this  activity  is  ex- 
pended upon  the  surroundings,  clearing  away  obstructions  and  pre- 
paring a  smooth  road  to  the  predestined  goal.  The  satisfaction  of 
every  such  desire  works  extensive  changes  in  the  immediate  environ- 
ment and  a  large  part  of  these  changes  is  permanent,  contributing 
somewhat  in  each  case  to  the  sum  total  of  civilizing  influences  in 
society.  The  principal  form  that  all  this  takes  is  that  of  creating 
means  to  the  end,  and  such  means  are  permanent  contributions  to 
civilization.  They  do  not  merely  serve  the  end  of  the  individual 
who  creates  them,  but  remain  after  he  is  through  with  them  to 
serve  the  ends  of  other  individuals  for  all  time. 

This  third  effect  of  a  dynamic  action  is  therefore  chiefly  to  transform 
the  environment.  If  we  examine  this  principle  closely  we  shall  see 
that,  within  a  legitimate  extension  of  the  terms,  all  social  progress 
consists  in  transforming  the  environment.  I  will  not  even  restrict 
it  to  simple  material  progress,  where  this  is  obvious,  covering  as  it 
does  all  economic  and  industrial  operations,  but  will  predicate  it 
also  of  all  esthetic,  moral,  and  intellectual  operations.  It  is,  indeed, 
difficult  to  separate  these,  as  the  historical  materialists  have  suc- 
ceeded in  showing,  because  the  latter  are  to  so  large  a  degree 
dependent  upon  the  former,  but  even  if  we  succeed  in  doing  this, 
at  least  in  thought,  still  these  higher  spiritual  operations,  wholly 
abstracted  from  their  material  base,  constitute  transformations  of 
the  environment  in  a  very  proper  sense.  Looked  at  from  a  certain 
point  of  view,  it  is  these  that  furnish  not  only  the  most  important 
of  such  transformations  but  also  the  most  enduring  of  them.  In 
Chapter  III  it  was  shown  that  civilization  consists  in  human  achieve- 
ment, and  also  that  the  great  achievements  of  mankind  are  not 
material  but  spiritual,  that  material  things  are  fleeting  and  eva- 
nescent, while  spiritual  things  are  lasting  and  indestructible.  Still 
it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  these  permanent  contributions  to  civi- 
lization are  simply  the  means  by  which  transformations  in  the 
material  environment  in  the  interest  of  man  can  be  wrought,  and 
their  value  consists  in  the  quality  of  enabling  man  to  work  such 
transformations  constantly  and  for  all  time.  We  may  therefore 
say  that  this  third  and  only  dynamic  effect  of  an  action  consists  in 


252  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAUT  a 

the  permanent  transformation  of  the  environment  which  constitutes 
human  achievement. 

Looking  still  deeper  into  the  nature  of  this  dynamic  effect  of 
action  it  is  perceived  that,  somewhat  as  in  the  second  or  functional 
effect,  it  is  not  the  effect  desired  or  intended  by  the  agent.  The 
only  conscious  and  intentional  effect  of  the  action  is  the  one  first 
considered,  the  satisfaction  of  desire.  This  is  the  only  end  of  the 
individual,  the  only  one  in  which  he  has  an  interest.  The  second  or 
functional  effect,  viz.,  the  maintenance  of  the  social  order,  and  the 
third  or  dynamic  effect,  viz.,  the  furtherance  of  social  progress,  are 
not  only  matters  of  complete  indifference  to  him,  but  they  are  for 
the  most  part  undesired,  unintended,  and  unknown  by  him.  Ex- 
cept in  the  most  highly  developed  and  most  advanced  and  enlight- 
ened of  all  men,  progress,  as  we  have  seen,  is  not  only  undesirable 
but  odious  and  detestable,  so  that  the  greater  part  of  all  progress 
both  in  the  past  and  present  has  taken  place  and  is  taking  place  in 
opposition  to  the  desires  of  men  and  in  spite  of  the  universal  con- 
servatism and  misoneism  of  mankind.  This  is  true  of  all  progress 
produced  by  the  cross  fertilization  of  cultures,  it  is  true  of  progress 
through  innovation,  and  it  is  true  of  progress  through  conation.  All 
this  belongs  to  the  "  philosophy  of  the  unconscious,"  dimly  seen  by 
Schopenhauer  and  Hartmann,  by  the  latter  of  whom  it  received  this 
designation,  but  which  at  bottom  constitutes  the  essence  of  all  pure 
science  relating  to  the  sentient  world.  It  is  the  natura  naturans, 
the  mysterious  power  of  nature  working  for  ends  beyond  the  reach 
of  human  wisdom.  It  is  the  mission  of  true  science  to  lift  the  veil 
and  peer  behind  it  into  the  workings  of  this  power,  and  so  far  as 
may  be  to  discover  the  principles  and  formulate  the  laws  of  these 
unconscious  and  deep-lying  dynamic  agencies. 

If  now  we  look  squarely  at  this  third,  dynamic  effect  of  action 
we  shall  see  that  the  quantity  of  the  result  is  measured  by  the 
amount  of  effort  put  forth,  so  that  the  essence  of  the  principle  is 
effort.  The  greater  the  obstacles  to  be  removed  the  greater  the 
effort  required.  The  more  difficult  the  end  is  of  attainment  the 
more  elaborate  will  be  the  means  necessary  to  secure  the  end. 
The  more  remote  the  end  the  longer  is  it  necessary  to  work  in 
order  to  reach  it,  and  all  the  work  done  in  this  time  consists  in 
transforming  the  environment  in  the  interest  of  progress.  In  every 
case  it  is  effort  that  produces  the  effect,  and  the  quantity  of  the 


CH.  xi]  CONATION  253 

effect  will  depend  upon,  and  be  roughly  proportional  to  the  quantity 
of  effort.  Of  course  the  quality  has  also  to  be  taken  into  the  account, 
and  if  the  effort  is  chiefly  mental,  especially  if  it  is  inventive,  the 
dynamic  effect  is  far  greater,  and  seems  out  of  proportion  to  the 
effort.  But  here  we  may  apply  the  dictum  of  Descartes  that  all 
considerations  of  quality  may  be  reduced  to  those  of  quantity,  since 
mind  is  the  result  of  a  vast  series  of  climactic  organizations,  so  that 
a  genial  idea  represents  a  prolonged  accumulation,  a  concentration, 
focalization,  and  intensification  of  the  simpler  forms  of  energy,  and 
thus  really  represents  an  enormously  increased  quantity  of  trans- 
formed and  sublimated  muscular  effort.  Bastiat  seems  to  have 
caught  a  distinct  glimpse  of  the  principle  under  consideration  here 
when  he  formulated  the  much  quoted  phrase,  "  wants,  efforts,  satis- 
factions," 1  which  was  put  forth  as  the  key  note  to  his  "  Economic 
Harmonies."  He  does  not,  however,  work  the  principle  out  nor 
manifest  any  clear  grasp  of  its  sociological  importance.  As  an 
economist  he  of  course  wholly  missed  the  dynamic  effect  of  efforts,  and 
dwelt  on  the  satisfactions,  which  cannot  be  logically  separated  from 
the  wants,  which,  indeed,  constitute  the  dynamic  agent,  but  not  the 
dynamic  principle.  This  is  effort,  and  the  term  conation  means  the 
same.  I  use  it  as  a  technical  term,  partly  because  so  important  a 
principle  should  have  a  definite  name,  and  partly  because  not  all 
efforts  are  necessarily  dynamic,  and  the  word  is  often  loosely  used. 
Conation  and  effort  are  not  therefore  strictly  synonymous,  and  the 
latter  would  fall  short  of  exactly  defining  the  principle. 

The  biological  homologue  of  conation  is  the  Lamarckian  principle 
of  exercise,  which  might  as  well  be  called  the  principle  of  effort. 
This  is  a  principle  of  dynamic  biology,  and  cooperates  with  fortui- 
tous variation,  whose  sociological  equivalent  is  innovation,  to  fur- 
nish the  initial  variations  upon  which  natural  selection  seizes  in 
producing  the  transmutation  of  species.  The  principle  is  the  same 
in  sociology  as  in  biology,  but  there  is  an  exceedingly  important  dif- 
ference in  the  way  in  which  it  works  in  the  two  fields.  This  differ- 
ence is  expressed  by  the  formula  that  I  have  so  frequently  repeated 

1  "  Besoins,  efforts,  satisfactions,  voilk  le  fond  general  de  toutes  les  sciences  qui 
ont  1'homme  pour  objet."  Journal  des  Economistes,  Vol.  XXI,  September,  1848, 
p.  110.  The  article  in  which  this  phrase  occurs  is  entitled :  "  Harmonies  Economiques  " 
(pp.  105-120),  which  he  afterward  expanded  into  a  volume  (Vol.  VI  of  his  complete 
works,  Paris,  1854),  the  second  chapter  of  which  is  entitled :  "  Besoins,  Efforts,  Satis- 
factions," which  follows  the  same  lines  as  the  preliminary  article. 


254  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

that  in  biology  the  environment  transforms  the  organism,  while  in  soci- 
ology man  transforms  the  environment.  The  biologists  have  abun- 
dantly shown  how  the  former  of  these  effects  is  produced,  and  now 
I  have  shown  how  the  latter  effect  is  produced.  The  one  is  a  physi- 
ological effect,  the  other  a  sociological  effect.  The  physical  nature 
of  man,  as  was  stated  in  an  earlier  chapter  (see  supra,  p.  17)  has 
undergone  very  little  change  since  he  assumed  his  completed  human 
form,  but  in  so  far  as  it  has  changed  or  is  still  changing  the  principle 
through  which  the  change  is  produced  is  the  biological  and  not  the 
sociological  principle.  With  it  therefore  we  have  here  nothing  to 
do.  But  it  is  clear  that  animals  perform  dynamic  actions  as  well  as 
men,  and  any  such  action  may  be  analyzed  as  we  have  analyzed  a 
human  dynamic  action.  The  three  effects  are  the  same  with  the 
above  qualification  of  the  third,  viz.,  1,  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  2, 
the  preservation  or  continuance  of  life,  3,  the  modification  of  the 
organism.  The  first  alone  is  conscious,  the  second  is  unconscious, 
unintended,  and  unknown,  but  functional  and  therefore  static.  The 
third  is  unconscious,  unintended,  and  undesired,  but  as  it  tends  to 
change  the  type  of  structure  it  is  dynamic.  All  this  is  too  obvious 
to  require  anything  beyond  simple  statement,  but  it  furnishes  a  per- 
fect illustration  of  the  vast  cosmic  sweep  of  the  fundamental  princi- 
ples here  set  forth  as  well  as  of  the  true  unity  of  nature  in  all  its 
departments  when  we  once  seize  the  thread  that  binds  all  these 
departments  into  one.  This  is  true  monism,  as  I  understand  that 
term,  and  reconciles  infinite  variety  with  perfect  unity. 

Society  is  the  beneficiary  of  all  the  dynamic  principles  of  soci- 
ology. The  dynamic  effects  are  social  effects,  and  the  general  result 
is  achievement  and  social  progress.  But  we  may  look  still  farther 
into  the  process.  However  much  mind  may  enter  into  it,  the  effort 
is  expended  directly  upon  the  material  environment.  Its  success  in 
causing,  social  progress  is  conditioned  upon  the  fundamental  truth 
stated  in  Chapter  III  that  matter  is  dynamic.  In  the  whole  history 
of  mankind  it  is  found  that  effort  expended  upon  matter  has  yielded 
advantageous  results.  Other  expenditures  of  energy  have  been 
either  statical  or  fruitless.  Expended  in  coercing  men,  social  energy 
yields  no  progressive  results  (see  supra,  pp.  19-20).  Directed  to  purely 
spiritual  things,  it  results  in  a  weak,  stagnant  civilization,  like  that 
of  India,  culminating  in  caste,  oppression,  and  quietism,  hermeti- 
cally sealed  to  all  dynamic  influences.  Matter  alone  possesses  the 


CH.  xij  CONATION  255 

"promise  and  potency"  of  progress,  and  this  has  been  demonstrated 
by  the  enormous  strides  made  by  the  western  civilization  after  it 
had  fairly  commenced  to  concentrate  its  energies  on  the  material 
environment. 

The  dynamic  property  of  matter  resides  in  its  susceptibility  to 
change  under  the  influence  of  external  forces.  The  law  of  the  con- 
servation of  energy  does  not  affect  this.  That  law  simply  predicates 
the  indestructibility  of  matter  and  motion.  The  quantity  of  matter 
and  motion  is  fixed,  but  the  form  of  matter  and  the  mode  of  motion 
are  indefinitely  variable.  As  Clerk  Maxwell  expresses  it,  "  The 
total  energy  of  any  material  system  is  a  quantity  which  can  neither 
be  increased  nor  diminished  by  any  action  between  the  parts  of  the 
system,  though  it  may  be  transformed  into  any  of  the  forms  of 
which  energy  is  susceptible." l  This  establishes  the  indefinite  modi- 
fiability  of  all  material  things  and  the  possibility  of  directing  all 
the  forces  of  nature  according  to  the  will  of  the  agent.  Nature  is 
thus  easily  "  managed  "  to  the  extent  that  her  laws  are  understood, 
and  there  is  no  limit  to  the  extent  to  which  the  inexhaustible  forces 
of  nature  may  be  brought  into  the  service  of  man.  This  is  why  the 
material  progress  of  man  has  so  greatly  outstripped  his  moral 
progress,2  and  this  is  what  I  mean  by  my  definition  of  civilization 
as  "the  utilization  of  the  materials  and  forces  of  nature,"  upon 
which  I  have  so  long  insisted.  Matter  is  for  man,  endowed  with 
intelligence  and  inspired  by  science,  a  veritable  lamp  of  Aladdin, 
which  he  need  but  rub,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  all  things  take  on  the 
forms  of  utility  and  cast  themselves  at  his  feet. 

1 "  Matter  and  Motion,"  New  York,  1892,  p.  103. 

2  I  drew  this  contrast  in  1885  in  a  paper  entitled,  Moral  and  Material  Progress 
Contrasted,  read  before  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Washington,  Feb.  17,  1885. 
See  Trans.  Anthrop.  Soc.,  Washington,  Vol.  Ill,  Washington,  1885,  pp.  121-136. 


CHAPTER   XII 
CLASSIFICATION   OF   THE   SOCIAL  FORCES 

THERE  are  many  ways  of  classifying  social  phenomena.  Nearly 
all  the  systems  considered  in  Chapter  II  require  classifications  of 
their  own,  and  the  different  classifications,  like  the  different  systems, 
all  have  their  merits.  Our  point  of  view  is  that  of  regarding  soci- 
ology as  a  true  science,  and  the  principal  characteristic  of  a  true 
science  is  that  it  is  a  domain  of  natural  phenomena  produced  by  a 
special  class  of  forces.  The  forces  producing  social  phenomena  are 
the  social  forces,  and  taken  together  they  constitute  the  dynamic 
agent,  the  nature  of  which  was  made  the  subject  of  Chapter  VI. 
The  five  following  chapters  (VII  to  XI)  have  been  devoted  to  work- 
ing out  the  principles  according  to  which  the  dynamic  agent  operates 
in  human  society,  and  we  have  at  last  arrived  at  the  point  where  we 
can  undertake  a  classification  of  the  various  forces  that  combine  to 
make  up  the  dynamic  agent,  and  where  we  can  take  up  the  several 
classes  or  groups  of  such  forces  and  treat  them  in  their  logical  order. 

Nothing  that  has  already  been  said  need  be  repeated  and  we  may 
proceed  at  once  with  the  classification.  At  the  outset  we  encounter 
the  obstacle  presented  by  the  choice  of  terms.  Although  the  dy- 
namic agent  consists  wholly  in  feeling,  such  is  the  poverty  of  the  lan- 
guage of  feeling  that  it  would  be  difficult  or  impossible  to  find  the 
requisite  terms  in  that  vocabulary.  We  might,  it  is  true,  designate 
the  two  great  primordial  classes  of  forces  as  the  hunger  forces  and 
the  love  forces,  but  we  should  be  troubled  for  appropriate  adjectives 
and  derivatives.  And  then,  this  represents  only  the  positive  side 
of  individual  preservation  and  race  continuance,  and  in  the  former 
at  least  there  would  still  be  lacking  terms  suitable  for  designating 
those  negative  forms  of  preservation  which  consist  in  defense  and 
escape.  With  the  other  classes  of  forces  the  difficulty  would  be  still 
greater,  and  it  seems  best  to  choose  most  of  the  terms  from  the 
language  of  function.  Here  there  is  comparatively  little  diffi- 
culty. The  world  has  always  avoided  as  far  as  possible  the 
expression  of  feeling.  It  is  too  personal,  too  near  to  the  person 

256 


en.  xn]      CLASSIFICATION   OF   THE   SOCIAL   FORCES  257 

or  the  body.  It  exposes  too  plainly  the  bodily  and  mental  states, 
which  are  naturally  concealed.  Under  the  highest  states  of 
feeling  indifference  is  feigned.  If  the  feeling  is  pleasurable  there 
is  either  an  ascetic  sense  of  its  sinfulness  or  a  sense  of  shame  in  its 
avowal,  and  it  is  experienced  in  silence.  If  it  is  painful  it  involves 
the  admission  of  imperfection  or  defectiveness,  which  no  one  wishes 
to  admit.  "  Of  course,"  says  Schopenhauer,  "  human  life,  like  any 
bogus  article,  is  coated  on  the  outside  with  a  false  tinsel ;  whatever 
is  suffered  is  always  concealed ;  but  whatever  any  one  can  afford  in 
the  way  of  show  and  gloss  he  keeps  in  full  view,  and  the  more 
unhappy  he  is  the  more  he  tries  to  make  others  think  he  is  the  hap- 
piest of  men." l  This  is  doubtless  due  to  the  sense  of  imperfection 
implied  in  suffering,  and  the  effort  to  conceal  it  is  heightened  by 
its  general  recognition  in  the  form  of  refusing  to  help  any  one  who 
lets  it  be  known  that  he  is  in  need,  while  willingly  showering  bene- 
fits on  those  who  make  it  appear  that  they  have  need  of  nothing. 
This  apparently  detestable  trait  in  human  nature  is  based  on  the 
inevitable  association  of  suffering  with  worthlessness,  and  the  innate 
disinclination  to  waste  substance  on  the  worthless. 

Everything  thus  conspires  to  the  suppression  of  the  utterance  of 
feeling  and  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  the  development  of  a  rich 
and  copious  language  of  feeling.  Compare  for  example  the  vocabu- 
lary of  the  sense  of  sight,  which  is  chiefly  intellectual,  with  that  of 
either  taste  or  smell,  which  are  wholly  sensual.  Think  of  the  num- 
ber of  names  of  colors  and  the  fine  shades  that  they  express,  and 
compare  these  with  the  names  for  odors  or  tastes.  For  the  latter  it  is 
necessary  to  name  some  object  (flower,  perfume,  fruit,  condiment,  etc.) 
and  say  it  smells  or  tastes  like  such  and  such  a  thing.  Perfumes 
and  flavors,  in  which  the  language  is  most  complete,  are  all  so 
named  (violets,  ottar  of  roses,  red  cedar,  incense,  vanilla,  orange, 
strawberry,  pineapple,  etc.).  There  are  no  such  simple  words  as  red, 
blue,  yellow,  green,  etc.  This  is  all  due  to  taboo  of  the  sensual  and 
the  check  thus  given  to  the  development  of  a  language  of  feeling. 

But  when  it  comes  to  function  the  case  is  reversed.  Here  the  lan- 
guage is  rich  and  the  vocabulary  ample.  This  is  because  of  the  sup- 
posed dignity  and  nobility  of  function.  It  is  instinctively  felt  that 
the  preservation  of  the  individual  and  the  race,  the  maintenance  of 
the  social  order,  the  furtherance  of  social  progress,  and  the  esthetic, 
i  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  383-384. 

8 


258 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


[PART  n 


moral,  and  intellectual  development  of  mankind  are  paramount 
considerations  upon  which  any  amount  of  effort  and  energy  may  be 
profitably  expended.  The  consequence  is  that  they  have  from  the 
first  been  made  the  subjects  of  exhaustive  treatment  and  thousands 
of  volumes  have  been  written  dealing  with  them  from  almost  every 
conceivable  point  of  view.  It  is  this  that  has  rendered  the  language 
of  function  so  full  and  complete. 

It  has  from  the  first  been  apparent  to  me  that  the  foundation  of 
sociology  as  a  true  science  must  be  a  logical  classification  of  the 
social  forces,  and  in  a  paper  that  I  read  on  Aug.  31, 1880,  before 
the  Section  of  Anthropology  of  the  American  Association  for  the 
Advancement  of  Science  in  Boston,  entitled,  "  Feeling  and  Function 
as  Factors  in  Human  Development,"  I  proposed  the  following  sys- 
tem, placing  it  on  the  blackboard  in  tabular  form  : 1  — 


Essential  Forces 


Preservative 
Forces 

Reproductive 
Forces 


Positive,  gustatory  (pleasurable) 
Negative,  protective  (painful) 
Direct.     The  sexual  instinct 
Indirect.     Parental  and  consanguineal 
affections 


Non-essential  Forces 


Esthetic 

Emotional 

Intellectual 


In  "  Dynamic  Sociology,"  which  appeared  in  1883,  the  table  of 
classification  of  the  social  forces  occurs  on  p.  472  of  the  first 
volume.  As  will  be  seen,  it  is  the  same  as  the  above  with  a  few 
verbal  changes :  — 

Preservative      j  Positive,  gustatory  (seeking  pleasure) 
Forces  \  Negative,  protective  (avoiding  pain) 

Reproductive    (  Direct.     The  sexual  and  amative  desires 
!  Forces  1  Indirect.     Parental  and  consanguineal  affections 

Esthetic  Forces 


/ 

£ 

? 


Emotional  (moral)  Forces 


Intellectual  Forces 


1  The  paper  was  published  in  full  in  Science,  original  series,  Vol.  I,  Oct.  23, 
1880,  pp.  210-211,  the  table  occurring  on  p.  211. 


CH.  xn]     CLASSIFICATION  OF  THE  SOCIAL  FORCES  259 

In  the  "  Psychic  Factors  of  Civilization,"  which  appeared  in  1893, 
a  chapter  (Chapter  XVIII)  was  devoted  to  the  social  forces,  and  the 
above  table  was  placed  at  the  head  of  that  chapter  without  change. 
It  was  also  introduced  without  change  in  my  article  entitled :  "  The 
Social  Forces,"  published  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology  for 
July,  18%,  Vol.  II,  where  it  occurs  on  p.  88.  This  article  forms 
Chapter  VII  of  the  "  Outlines  of  Sociology,"  the  table  occurring  on 
p.  148.  In  that  article,  however,  some  elective  modifications  were 
proposed.  For  example,  it  was  shown  that  the  Essential  Forces  may 
be  designated  as  physical,  and  the  Xon-essential  Forces  as  spiritual, 
the  Preservative  Forces  as  forces  of  individual  preservation,  and  the 
Reproductive  Forces  as  forces  of  race  continuance.  Moreover,  it  was 
suggested  that  the  Spiritual  Forces  are  essentially  forces  of  "  race 
elevation,"  and  each  of  these  groups  was  discussed  from  the  new 
point  of  view. 

In  the  present  work  the  point  of  view  is  primarily  that  of  the 
genesis  of  society,  and  the  classification  of  the  social  forces, 
may,  without  losing  anything  of  its  character  as  a  logical  system, 
be  somewhat  recast  to  bring  it  into  harmony  with  the  general  treat- 
ment. As  sociology  has  not  yet  acquired  a  suitable  terminology 
from  the  standpoint  of  genesis  or  evolution,  we  may  conveniently 
borrow  a  few  appropriate  terms  from  biology,  whose  evolutional 
terminology  is  especially  well  developed.  In  discussing  the  classi- 
fication of  the  social  forces  I  have  repeatedly  shown  that  the  physi- 
ological basis  of  the  preservative  forces,  especially  of  the  positive 
ones,  is  nutrition,  metabolism,  growth,  etc.,  that  is  to  say,  the  func- 
tions that  develop  and  sustain  the  physical  body.  From  the  stand- 
point of  genesis  this  includes  all  the  phases  through  which  an 
organism  passes  during  the  period  of  gestation,  and  this  is  called  its 
ontogeny.  But  ontogeny  need  not,  and  properly  understood,  does 
not  end  with  the  birth  of  the  individual,  but  includes  everything 
that  relates  to  the  being  during  its  whole  existence,  excluding  only 
the  genetic  relations  of  one  being  to  other  beings,  i.e.,  the  beings 
from  which  derived  and  the  beings  generated  by  the  being  in  ques- 
tion. Consideration  of  these  belongs  to  phylogeny.  But  although 
the  forces  called  preservative  in  the  above  tables  of  classification  are 
desires  and  wants  of  individuals  and  serve  primarily  to  perserve  the 
lives  of  individuals,  it  is  also  true  that  they  are  the  influences  which 
work  for  the  maintenance  of  the  social  order  through  the  principle 


260  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

of  social  synergy,  and  they  are  therefore  the  forces  of  social  as  well 
as  individual  preservation.  I  shall  therefore  use,  as  altogether 
synonymous  with  the  former  expression  "  preservative  forces,"  ex- 
cept as  designed  to  connote  also  their  genetic  and  evolutionary 
relations,  the  expression  ontogenetic  forces. 

In  like  manner  the  "reproductive  forces"  of  the  former  classifica- 
tion may  be  called  the  phylogenetic  forces,  as  the  influences  that  work 
the  perpetuity  and  continuity  of  the  phylum,  hereditary  stock,  or 
race.  From  the  standpoint  of  function  they  take  no  account  of  the 
individual,  but  in  continuing  the  race  they  make  the  life  of  the  indi- 
vidual as  it  were  continuous.  In  thus  continuing  the  membership 
of  society  they  continue  society  itself.  This  is  true  social  reproduc- 
tion, but  is  not  what  the  organicists  mean  when  they  use  that 
phrase.  If  by  society  we  mean  associated  men  in  general  there  is. 
no  other  social  reproduction,  but  if  we  regard  society  as  a  plurality 
of  social  bodies  or  groups,  social  reproduction  is  a  sort  of  gemmation, 
and  is  that  which  was  called  social  differentiation  in  Chapter  X, 
becoming  colonization  in  advanced  societies. 

All  the  social  forces  that  have  hitherto  been  classed  as  "non- 
essential"  I  now  propose  to  call  sociogenetic  forces.  These  were 
shown  in  18%  to  be  "  spiritual  forces,"  meaning  by  this  that  they 
are  psychic  in  a  somewhat  different  and  "  higher "  or  "  nobler " 
sense  than  the  essential  forces,  which  were  then  designated  as 
"  physical,"  not  that  they  can  be  other  than  ps}rchic,  but  simply 
that  their  functions  are  physical,  while  the  functions  of  the  non- 
essential  forces  are  also  psychic.  But  a  step  was  also  there  taken 
in  the  direction  of  the  present  point  of  view,  by  treating  them  as 
"forces  of  race  elevation."  It  was  then  seen  that  these  are  the 
chief  civilizing  agencies.  It  remains  to  be  pointed  out  that  they 
are  also  the  chief  socializing  agencies.  But  the  difference  between 
civilizing  and  socializing  agencies  is  not  wide.  Whatever  is  socializ- 
ing either  is,  or  may  become,  civilizing.  Socialization  is  the  first 
step  toward  civilization,  and  all  esthetic,  moral,  and  intellectual 
influences  are  working  for  civilization  chiefly  through  socializa- 
tion. The  general  subject  of  socialization  and  its  relations  to 
civilization  and  human  achievement  is  fully  treated  in  Chapter 
XX. 

The  final  classification,  then,  may  be  given  the  following 
form :  — 


CH.  xii]      CLASSIFICATION  OF   THE   SOCIAL   FORCES 


261 


r~: 

H 


d> 

£  -c 

o  o 

f-rj  ,^2 

2  c    - 

cS  o 

•s  '•§ 


^    Ontogenetic     f  Positive,  attractive  (seeking  pleasure) 
Forces  |  Negative,  protective  (avoiding  pain) 


Phylogenetic    f  Direct,  sexual 

Forces  [Indirect,  consanguineal 


Sociogenetic 
Forces 


Moral  (seeking  the  safe  and  good) 
Esthetic  (seeking  the  beautiful) 


Intellectual  (seeking  the  useful  and  true) 
Notwithstanding  the  prominence  that  the  functional  has  to  assume 
in  the  terminology  of  the  social  forces,  the  fact  must  not  be  lost 
sight  of  for  a  moment  that  this  is  not  the  essence  of  them,  and 
that  the  standpoint  of  the  sociologist  is  not  function  but  feeling. 
Function  is  indirect,  incidental,  and  consequential,  the  result  of 
adaptation  and  that  preestablished  harmony  that  was  considered  in 
Chapter  V.  It  is  biological  and  not  sociological.  The  social  forces 
are  wants  seeking  satisfactions  through  efforts,  and  are  thus  social 
motives  or  motors  inspiring  activities  which  either  create  social 
structures  through  social  synergy  or  modify  the  structures  already 
created  through  innovation  and  conation.  They  reside  in  the  in- 
dividual but  become  social  through  interaction,  cooperation,  and 
cumulative  effects.  They  are  all  primarily  physical  or  physiological, 
even  those  classed  as  spiritual,  for  the  organism  is  the  only  source 
from  which  they  can  emanate.  They  all  have,  therefore,  their 
physical  seat  in  the  human  body,  and  for  most  of  them  this  is  not 
difficult  to  locate.  The  ontogenetic  forces  of  the  positive  or  attrac- 
tive class,  which  might  be  called  the  hunger  forces,  have  their  chief 
seat  in  the  stomach  where  the  principal  satisfaction  is  experienced, 
but  the  passageway  to  the  stomach  is  provided  with  specialized 
nerves  calculated  to  attract  and  convey  nutritious  substances  to  the 
digestive  tract.  This  office  is  performed  by  the  sense  of-  taste, 
located  chiefly  in  the  tongue  and  palate.  The  sense  of  smell  is 
commonly  and  correctly  regarded  as  ancillary  to  that  of  taste,  but 
no  one  seems  to  have  pointed  out  that  its  chief  purpose  is  to  enlarge 
the  radius  of  nutritive  attraction  by  acquainting  the  individual  with 
the  existence  of  nutrient  materials  that  are  not  in  contact  with  the 


262  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

organism  and  may  not  even  be  in  sight  of  it.  The  value  of  this 
to  the  lower  organisms  is  obvious,  but  it  diminishes  with  structural 
development  until  it  'is  scarcely  necessary  to  developed  man.  The 
ontogenetic  forces  of  the  negative  or  protective  class  may  be  said  to 
have  their  physical  seat  in  all  the  specialized  pain  nerves  of  the 
body,  wherever  these  may  be  located. 

The  primary  or  direct  phylogenetic  forces  of  course  have  their 
physical  seat  in  the  loins,  but  the  secondary,  indirect,  or  consan- 
guineal  social  forces  are  much  more  vaguely  located  and  cannot  be 
limited  to  any  definite  tract.  Philoprogenitiveness,  and  especially 
maternal  affection,  form  a  true  transition  from  the  sexual  to  the 
consanguineal,  and  the  latter  is  more  or  less  restricted  to  the  mam- 
mary plexuses.  But  between  this  sentiment  and  the  love  of  the 
helpless,  which  some  regard  as  the  basis  of  the  moral  sentiments, 
the  step  is  short,  and  emotions  of  both  these  classes  can  be  easily 
located  by  any  observing  person  experiencing  them  in  the  general 
region  popularly  called  the  "  breast." 

It  might  naturally  be  expected  that  the  spiritual  or  sociogenetic 
social  forces  would  be  more  difficult  to  locate  in  the  physical  system, 
and  some  may  deny  altogether  the  possibility  of  doing  this.  But, 
while  the  difficulty  may  be  frankly  confessed  without  humiliation, 
the  task  is  not  hopeless.  The  fact  last  noted  clearly  shows  that 
some  at  least  of  the  moral  sentiments  are  definitely  cantoned  in 
the  human  breast,  as  the  poets  so  often  tell  us,  and  the  anatomist 
informs  us  that  this  chiefly  means  the  large  plexuses  of  the  great 
sympathetic  system  that  are  located  in  this  region.  It  is  these  and 
not  the  great  circulative  organ  or  force-pump  of  the  blood,  that 
constitute  the  "  heart"  of  the  emotional  literature,  whether  romantic, 
moral,  or  religious.  If,  therefore,  the  social  forces  are  to  be  classi- 
fied on  the  basis  of  their  physical  organs,  the  moral  forces  must 
undoubtedly  follow  immediately  after  the  secondary  phylogenetic 
forces  out  of  which  they  have  naturally  grown  during  the  historical 
expansion  of  the  primitive  ethical  dualism  (see  supra,  p.  187).  In 
former  classifications  I  have  placed  the  esthetic  before  the  moral 
forces  without  giving  any  particular  reason  for  doing  so,  but  from 
a  certain  sense  of  the  close  connection  between  ideas  of  beauty  and 
ideas  of  right,  and  the  extent  to  which  the  former  grow  out  of 
romantic  love.  But  there  is  perhaps  a  still  closer  connection  between 
love  and  altruistic  sentiments,  which  belong  to  the  moral  forces. 


en.  xn]      CLASSIFICATION  OF   THE   SOCIAL   FORCES  263 

The  fact  is  that  both  moral  and  esthetic  ideas  are  closely  affiliated 
upon  the  tender  emotion  and  no  linear  classification  can  adequately 
show  this. 

It  is  at  least  clear  that  most  or  all  of  the  moral  sentiments,  grow- 
ing as  they  have  out  of  sympathy,  which  in  turn  is  a  development 
of  the  love  of  kindred,  have  their  seat  in  the  general  emotional 
tracts,  i.e.,  in  the  great  sympathetic  plexuses.  There  are  so  many 
of  these,  and  they  are  so  widely  distributed  throughout  the  body, 
that  it  is  impossible  in  the  present  state  of  science  to  locate  these 
sentiments  definitely,  and  still  more  so  to  assign  particular  senti- 
ments to  particular  ganglia,  even  supposing  that  the  system  has 
attained  any  such  degree  of  specialization.  I  do  not  doubt  that 
when  experimental  psychology  shall  have  advanced  much  farther 
than  at  present  the  study  of  what  I  may  call  the  localization  of  the 
emotions  will  be  undertaken  somewhat  as  the  localization  of  the 
faculties  in  the  brain  is  now  being  studied. 

The  seat  of  the  esthetic  forces  is  still  more  difficult  to  determine. 
The  love  of  beauty  is  clearly  a  feeling  and  amounts  to  an  emotion, 
but  it  receives  its  stimulus  from  the  semi-intellectual  senses  of  sight 
and  hearing.  The  stimuli  are  propagated  from  the  optic  and  audi- 
tory tracts  of  the  brain  to  the  appropriate  emotional  centers,  which 
are  probably,  in  part  at  least,  in  the  brain  itself.  Any  attempt 
more  definitely  to  locate  them  would  be  hopeless,  but,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  moral  emotions,  they  present  a  problem  for  the  future 
scientific  psychology. 

Finally  the  intellectual  forces,  usually  characterized  as  the  love  of 
truth,  but  also  involving  the  love  of  knowledge,  are  clearly  centered 
in  the  brain  and  doubtless  chiefly  reside  in  the  cortical  layers.  They 
are  therefore  affiliated  upon  the  esthetic  forces  and  not  on  the  moi-al 
forces,  and  this  is  another  reason  for  the  order  here  adopted  in  the 
classification  of  the  spiritual  forces.  But  all  these  sentiments  inter- 
cross and  anastomose.  There  is  an  obvious  connection  between 
utility  and  safety,  and  between  both  these  and  the  simpler  sense  of 
self-preservation.  All  the  social  forces  represent  the  innate  inter- 
ests of  mankind  and  whatever  interests  prompt  to  action,  thus 
becoming  a  social  motor. 

Many  other  relationships  might  be  pointed  out  among  the  social 
forces.  The  physical  forces  may  be  regarded  as  original  and  the 
spiritual  as  derivative,  and  it  is  practically  true  that  the  latter  are 


264  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

confined  to  the  human  race  while  the  former  are  common  to  both 
men  and  animals.  It  is  also  true  that  while  the  former  become 
social  by  stimulating  activities  which  unconsciously  produce  social 
effects,  the  latter  are  essentially  socializing  and  tend  to  race  eleva- 
tion and  universal  culture.  Again,  all  the  physical  forces  may  be 
regarded  in  one  sense  as  negative,  since  they  are  directed  to  the  pre- 
vention of  pain  rather  than  the  production  of  pleasure.  Hunger, 
thirst,  cold,  fear,  want  of  every  kind,  and  also  love,  are  painful 
states,  to  escape  from  which  men  continually  strive,  while  the  satis- 
factions derived  from  successful  efforts  in  these  directions  are  for 
the  most  part  momentary  and  count  for  next  to  nothing  as  pleasures 
compared  to  the  gain  of  having  escaped  from  the  pains.  On  the 
other  hand  the  spiritual  forces  may  be  classed  as  positive,  since  to  a 
much  less  degree  are  they  directed  to  the  relief  of  pain,  and  they 
are  almost  wholly  directed  to  securing  pleasures  whose  absence  is 
not  felt  as  a  pain.  Sympathy,  it  is  true,  is  a  secondary  or  represen- 
tative pain,  an  echo  in  self  of  the  pains  of  others,  but  most  moral 
action  is  performed  for  the  pleasure  it  yields,  and  not  to  escape 
from  even  this  form  of  pain.  The  esthetic  forces  are  still  more 
positive  in  this  sense,  while  the  intellectual  forces  seem  to  be 
wholly  so. 

Among  other  relations  of  the  social  forces  we  find  a  class  which  I 
will  characterize  as  paradoxes  of  the  social  forces.  There  is  a  wide 
misconception,  not  to  say  ignorance,  on  the  subject,  coupled  with 
a  large  amount  of  hypocrisy  and  absurd  conventionality,  which  may 
be  exposed  by  analysis,  although  it  cannot  be  dispelled  by  logic. 
The  facts  last  stated  might  be  classed  among  these  paradoxes,  viz., 
that  the  physical  impulses  are  negative  while  the  spiritual  ones  are 
positive.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the  physical  forces  are  altruistic, 
while  the  spiritual  forces  are  egoistic.  The  maintenance  of  life  and 
of  the  -race  are  highly  altruistic  objects,  and  it  is  these  that  the 
physical  forces  secure.  It  need  not  be  maintained  that  this  altruism 
is  conscious,  but  if  this  test  is  to  be  applied  it  will  compare  favora- 
bly here  with  the  later  and  better  understood  forms  of  altruism. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  spiritual  forces  are  egoistic.  This  follows 
from  what  I  have  just  said  that  they  are  not  modes  of  escape  from 
danger  to  the  individual  and  the  race,  but  ways  of  pursuing  pleasure 
for  its  own  sake.  There  is  great  confusion  in  the  popular  ideas  of 
high  and  low,  coarse  and  refined,  worthy  and  unworthy.  The  most 


CH.  xn]      CLASSIFICATION   OF   THE   SOCIAL   FORCES  265 

worthy  and  noble  of  all  things  are  those  that  preserve  and  perpetu- 
ate the  race.  This  is  function  and  the  end  of  nature.  The  concep- 
tion of  safety  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  religion.  It  is  the  essence 
of  salvation,  however  far  the  meaning  of  that  term  may  have  de- 
parted from  it  in  the  later  derivative  and  distorted  cults.  The 
physical  social  forces  are  therefore  those  that  represent  the  high- 
est necessity,  while  the  spiritual  forces  chiefly  represent  utility, 
as  I  have  defined  these  terms  (see  supra,  p.  131).  The  fundamental 
criterion  of  utility  is  the  quantity  of  satisfaction  yielded,  and, 
measured  by  this  standard,  it  is  clear  that  the  spiritual  interests  far 
outweigh  the  physical  interests  of  developed  man.  Physical  satis- 
factions have  greater  intensity,  but  spiritual  satisfactions  have  greater 
duration.  The  former  are  momentary,  and  the  gain  mainly  con- 
sists in  having  gotten  rid  of  a  pain  or  a  pang  or  a  goad,  the  gadfly 
of  eternal  passion.  The  spiritual  forces  are  no  such  torments,  though 
aspirations  after  excellence  may  constitute  a  prolonged  and  uninter- 
rupted incentive  to  strive  and  to  achieve.  But  satisfaction  accom- 
panies achievement,  and  the  debt  of  anticipation  is  constantly  paid 
in  the  coin  of  participation,  so  that  the  satisfaction  is  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  continuous.  This  gives  volume  to  spiritual  pleasures 
much  more  than  sufficient  to  counterbalance  the  greater  intensity  of 
physical  pleasures.  It  is  only  in  the  sense  of  being  more  moderate 
and  enduring,  and  thus  greater  in  real  volume,  that  the  former  can 
be  said  to  be  higher,  more  refined,  or  more  worthy  than  the  latter. 
But  no  such  comparison  of  degree  is  just  or  logical.  The  distinction 
is  qualitative,  not  quantitative,  and  the  physical  forces  are  character- 
ized by  their  necessity,  while  the  spiritual  forces  are  characterized 
by  their  utility.  The  former  chiefly  serve  function  and  secure  the 
ends  of  nature,  standing  thus  largely  on  the  biological  plane,  while 
the  latter  minister  to  feeling  and  secure  the  ends  of  man,  and  there- 
fore stand  wholly  on  the  sociological  plane.  The  first  are  ontogenetic 
and  phylogenetic,  while  the  second  are  exclusively  sociogenetic. 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE  OXTOGENETIC    FORCES 

WE  have  to  consider  in  this  chapter  the  influence  which  those 
human  activities  that  have  subsistence  and  protection  for  their  ends 
exert  on  the  creation  and  transformation  of  social  structures.  The 
struggle  for  existence  in  the  animal  world  did  not  cease  with  the 
emergence  of  the  human  species  out  of  that  into  the  social  world, 
but  has  always  continued.  Here  it  became  social  synergy  and 
worked  for  social  structure.  Just  as  in  the  earliest  Metazoan  life 
the  first  organ  developed  was  the  stomach,  and  the  first  organisms 
consisted  of  a  stomach  only,  so  in  the  lowest  societies  all  energy  is 
concentrated  on  the  one  supreme  function  of  nutrition  or  subsistence, 
and  such  societies  may  be  not  inappropriately  characterized  as  con- 
sisting exclusively  of  a  social  stomach.  But  at  a  very  early  stage 
the  environment  raises  opposition  and  threatens  injury,  and  defen- 
sive activities  are  added  to  the  appetitive  activities.  The  struggle 
grows  more  intense  and  the  group  sentiment  is  generated  and  creates 
incipient  society.  The  primitive  group  or  horde  is  the  resultant 
social  structure.  During  the  period  of  social  differentiation  described 
in  Chapter  X  great  vicissitudes  are  passed  through,  during  which 
the  multiplied  groups  grow  heterogeneous  and  ultimately  come  to 
differ  from  one  another  as  widely  as  coordinate  groups  of  human 
beings  are  capable  of  differing.  But  thus  far  the  competition  is 
with  one  another  and  with  the  environment  (climate,  wild  beasts, 
terrestrial  obstructions,  etc.),  and  the  effect  is  mainly  constructive, 
intensive,  and  creative  ;  in  a  word,  it  is  static.  When,  however,  the 
time  arrives  for  social  integration  to  begin  the  competition  is  one  of 
group  with  group  and  wholly  new  elements  enter  into  the  struggle. 
The  stage  of  race  antagonism  is  reached  and  the  era  of  war  begins. 
The  chase  for  animal  food  is  converted  into  a  chase  for  human 
flesh,  and  anthropophagous  races  arise  spreading  terror  in  all 
directions. 

266 


CH.  xin]  EXPLOITATION  267 

EXPLOITATION 

All  social  processes  that  can  be  called  economic  have  their  origin 
in  exploitation.  In  entirely  primitive  social  groups,  comparable  to 
the  Protozoa  or  unicellular  organisms,  each  individual  goes  about 
in  the  way  that  animals  do,  seeking  food,  shelter,  etc.,  and  con- 
sumes whatever  he  finds.  There  is  no  social  result  any  more  than 
in  the  case  of  animals,  certainly  no  more  than  in  the  case  of  such 
animals  as  dig  holes,  build  nests,  etc.  The  efforts  thus  put  forth 
have  only  the  biological  effect  of  somewhat  strengthening  the  organs 
thus  brought  into  exercise.  The  skill  acquired  in  securing  animal 
food  strengthens  the  brain  and  increases  the  power  of  adaptation  to 
varied  physical  conditions,  which  was  the  prime  requisite  to  social 
differentiation.  But  early  in  the  stage  of  social  integration,  when 
the  various  differentiated  groups  nearest  to  the  center  of  original 
radiation  began  to  approach  one  another  and  encroach  upon  terri- 
tory occupied  by  other  groups,  the  idea  of  making  some  economic 
use  of  such  proximity  was  not  slow  to  rise  in  the  minds  of  those 
groups  that  proved  themselves  superior.  The  use  of  the  bodies  of 
the  weaker  races  for  food  was  of  course  the  simplest  form  of  exploita- 
tion to  suggest  itself.  But  this  stage  was  succeeded  by  that  of  social 
assimilation  through  conquest  and  subjugation,  where  the  conquered 
race  became  something  more  than  a  factor  in  subsistence.  Still  the 
conquered  race  remained  an  economic  element,  and  the  conquering 
race  soon  learned  to  utilize  it  to  far  greater  advantage  than  canni- 
balism could  yield.  The  profound  inequality  produced  by  subjuga- 
tion was  turned  to  account  through  other  forms  of  exploitation. 
The  women  and  the  warriors  were  enslaved,  and  the  system  of  caste 
that  arose  converted  the  conquered  race  into  a  virtually  servile  class, 
while  this  service  and  the  exemptions  it  entailed  converted  the 
leaders  of  the  conquering  race  into  a  leisure  class.  There  were 
other  influences,  especially  sacerdotal,  that  contributed  to  the  same 
end,  but  we  are  concerned  here  especially  with  the  economic  aspects 
of  the  problem. 

Slavery.  —  Such  was  the  origin  of  slavery,  an  economic  institution 
which  is  found  in  the  earlier  stages  of  all  the  historic  races.  The 
moral  prejudices  of  the  modern  advanced  races  naturally  cause 
wholly  false  views  to  prevail  relative  to  slavery  which  the  sociolo- 
gist finds  it  very  difficult  to  contend  with.  Perhaps  his  greatest 


268  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

difficulty  is  not  that  of  conveying  true  views  to  others,  but  that  of 
acquiring  them  for  himself.  The  danger  of  seeming  to  defend  an 
institution  which  is  repugnant  to  him  tends  to  blind  him  to  much 
of  the  real  truth.  His  attitude  is  liable  to  become  that  of  the 
modern  advocates  of  universal  peace,  discussed  in  Chapter  X.  It 
seems  inconsistent  to  argue  against  war  and  slavery  in  the  present 
while  maintaining  that  they  were  useful  institutions  in  the  past. 
There  are  two  answers  to  this  charge  of  inconsistency.  The  one  is 
the  fundamental  law  that  prevails  throughout  all  departments  of 
nature  that  nothing  can  come  into  being  that  is  not  demanded  by 
the  conditions  existing  at  the  time.  Nothing  that  is  really  useless 
can  by  any  possibility  be  developed.  A  fortiori  it  is  a  contradiction 
of  terms  to  speak  of  the  natural  genesis  of  anything  injurious  or 
wholly  bad.  And  all  this  is  as  true  of  social  as  of  organic  structures. 
According  to  the  Lamarckian  principle  it  is  function  that  creates 
structure,  and  the  law  of  demand  and  supply  is  not  merely  an 
economic  law  but  a  sociologic  law,  and  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
the  economic  and  sociologic  expression  of  the  biologic  law  of  exer- 
cise. There  never  was  a  human  institution  that  was  not  called 
forth  in  response  to  a  social  demand,  which  from  the  scientific 
standpoint,  means  a  social  necessity. 

The  second  answer  to  this  charge  of  inconsistency,  of  which  some 
sociologists  are  so  much  afraid,  is  that  many  structures,  both  organic 
and  social,  outlive  their  usefulness  and  persist  as  impediments  to 
the  life  and  health  of  the  organism  and  of  society.  In  the  former 
case  they  become  "  vestiges,"  and  while  sometimes  quite  innocuous 
except  as  involving  the  waste  produced  in  nourishing  them,  they 
more  frequently  become  dangerous  seats  of  disease,  as  in  the  vermi- 
form appendage,  the  tonsils,  etc.  The  extreme  stability  of  social 
structures  was  noted  in  Chapter  XI  as  one  of  the  principal  obstacles 
to  human  progress,  and  there  is  no  human  institution,  however  nec- 
essary it  may  have  been  at  the  time  it  was  created,  that  will  not 
sooner  or  later  become  a  burden  unless  it  has  the  element  of  lability 
and  is  transformed  under  the  influence  of  some  of  the  dynamic  prin- 
ciples that  were  treated  in  that  chapter.  Such  transformation  may 
ultimately  become  so  complete  as  to  amount  to  virtual  abolition,  but 
unless  it  takes  place  without  organic  disruption  of  the  original  struc- 
ture it  is  revolution.  Institutions  that  persist  after  they  have  ceased 
to  serve  a  useful  purpose  are  the  exact  sociological  homolognes  of 


CH.  xin]  SLAVERY  269 

vestiges  in  biology  and  may  be  appropriately  called  social  vestiges. 
Major  Powell  has  happily  called  superstition  and  folklore  vestigial 
opinion.1  These  too  are  human  institutions  and  may  be  classed  as 
social  vestiges.  In  fact  social  structures  are  in  this  respect  precisely 
like  organic  structures,  and  exist  in  all  stages  from  rudiments,  or 
incipient  structures,  to  vestiges,  or  obsolescent,  and  also  wholly  obso- 
lete structures. 

Now  the  proper  and  scientific  attitude  toward  an  institution  that 
is  regarded  as  bad  is  not  wholesale  condemnation  and  denunciation 
as  something  that  is  essentially  bad  and  must  have  always  been  bad, 
but  investigation  to  ascertain  what  stage  of  its  history  it  is  in,  and 
whether  it  is  in  process  of  transformation,  throwing  off  its  outgrown 
elements  and  replacing  them  with  elements  adapted  to  existing  con- 
ditions, and  therefore  useful.  If  it  is  found  not  to  be  in  this 
dynamic  state,  or  state  of  moving  equilibrium,  it  is  proper  to  inquire 
whether  by  any  human  action  it  can  be  put  into  this  state.  To  this 
end  its  history  and  its  true  nature  should  be  studied,  and  especially 
the  original  conditions  which  must  have  developed  it  and  caused  it 
to  exist.  Until  this  is  done  there  is  no  logical  ground  for  attack- 
ing it. 

With  regard  to  the  institution  of  slavery  we  have  already  seen 
that  it  was  an  advance  upon  the  practice  of  extermination,  and  still 
more  upon  cannibalism.  It  was  universal  throughout  antiquity  and 
persisted  in  Europe  through  the  Middle  Ages.  The  causes  that 
conspired  to  bring  about  its  gradual  abolition  have  been  enumerated 
and  discussed  by  all  historians  of  Europe  and  need  not  be  entered 
into  here.  I  will  only  note  how  relatively  modern  is  the  sentiment 
condemning  it.  It  is  certainly  confined,  with  very  rare  exceptions, 
to  the  last  two  centuries,  and  chiefly  to  the  nineteenth  century,  and  it 
never  related  to  European  slavery,  but  has  been  almost  exclusively 
confined  to  that  form  of  slavery  which  consisted  in  importing  inferior 
races  from  their  native  country,  chiefly  Africa,  and  enslaving  them 
in  civilized  countries.  The  thing  that  has  been  chiefly  condemned 
is  the  slave  trade,  but  of  course  the  resulting  form  of  slavery  became 
the  subject  of  a  general  crusade.  But  as  showing  how  relatively 
modern  was  even  hostility  to  the  slave  trade  the  fact  may  be  cited 
that  De  Foe,  when  he  wrote  his  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  which  appeared 

1  American  Anthropologist,  New  Series,  Vol.  II,  January,  1900,  p.  1 ;  The  Monist, 
Vol.  X,  April,  1900,  p.  389. 


270  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAUTII 

in  1719,  had  evidently  never  heard  that  there  was  anything  wrong 
in  it,  for  the  shipwrecked  vessel  was  engaged  in  the  slave  trade,  of 
which  he  speaks  as  one  would  speak  of  the  cattle  trade  or  of  the 
trade  in  spices. 

Labor.  —  Economists,  socialists,  statesmen,  and  industrial  reform- 
ers, however  widely  they  may  differ  on  other  matters,  are  agreed 
that  all  value  in  the  economic  sense  is  due  to  labor,  but  most  of 
them  talk  as  though  labor  was  natural  to  man,  and  as  though  the 
main  question  was  how  to  give  men  work  enough  to  do.  However 
this  may  be  in  civilized  societies  now,  nothing  is  more  certain  than 
that  the  original  problem  was  how  to  make  men  work.  It  does  not 
seem  to  be  seen  that  the  human  race  has  been  radically  transformed 
in  this  respect,  and  that  the  modern  industrious  artisan  or  laborer  is 
utterly  unlike  his  primitive  ancestor.  We  can  gain  some  little  idea 
of  this  difference  by  comparing  him  with  the  North  American 
Indian,  especially  with  those  tribes  that  have  adhered  to  their  tribal 
customs  and  adopted  none  of  the  habits  of  Europeans.  Still,  only 
those  who  have  had  considerable  to  do  with  these  races  realize  how 
impossible  it  is  for  them  to  do  anything  that  we  call  work.  The 
total  lack  of  the  power  of  application,  especially  among  the  men,  is 
an  almost  universal  characteristic.  Not  that  they  do  not  often  follow 
the  chase  for  sustained  periods,  and  they  will  also  spend  hours  in 
fashioning  a  weapon  or  a  boat,  but  here  the  end  is  immediately 
before  them  and  the  fruition  is  to  be  theirs  the  moment  the  end  is 
attained.  These  are  elements  that  are  absent  from  labor  proper. 
The  instinct  of  workmanship  is  simply  the  love  of,  or  pleasure  in, 
activities  that  immediately  satisfy  desires  and  which  satisfaction  is 
constantly  and  vividly  before  the  mind.  Labor  in  the  conventional 
sense  possesses  no  such  stimulus. 

The  pursuit  of  food  wherever  it  can  be  found  by  the  members  of 
the  primitive  horde  can  no  more  be  called  labor  than  can  the  grazing 
of  a  buffalo  or  the  browsing  of  an  antelope.  Nor  is  there  any  true 
labor  involved  in  the  operations  of  races  at  much  higher  stages  of 
culture,  as,  for  example,  the  Amerinds  already  mentioned.  Only 
the  work  of  the  women  in  caring  for  the  men  and  the  children, 
and  in  performing  the  drudgery  of  the  camp  approaches  the  char- 
acter of  labor,  and  this  differs  widely  from  most  forms  of  pro- 
ductive industry.  And  it  may  be  safely  inferred  from  all  that  is 
known  of  actual  savages  and  primitive  peoples  that  prior  to  the 


CH.  xiii]  LABOR  271 

period  of  social  integration,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  period  of 
conquest,  mankind,  both  the  conquered  and  the  conquering  races, 
were  utterly  incapable  of  sustained  labor  and  had  no  conception 
of  it.  Men  of  that  type  would  be  perfectly  worthless  in  the  indus- 
trial world  to-day.  Their  productive  power  in  the  economic  sense 
would  be  nil. 

Now  contrasting  the  disciplined  laborer  of  modern  society  with 
the  undisciplined  savage,  and  admitting  that  the  former  has  been 
transformed  from  the  latter,  this  enormous  and  all-important  change 
in  human  character  has  to  be  accounted  for.  How  did  man  learn  to 
work  ?  Did  the  needs  of  existence  teach  him  self-denial,  tone  down 
his  wild  unsettled  nature,  and  discipline  his  mind  and  body  to  daily 
toil  ?  Not  at  all.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  if  left  wholly  to  these  influ- 
ences man  would  have  never  learned  to  labor.  It  required  some 
other  influence  far  more  imperative  and  coercive.  In  a  word,  nothing 
short  of  slavery  could  ever  have  accomplished  this.  This  was  the 
social  mission  of  human  slavery  —  to  convert  mere  activity  into  true 
labor.  The  aim  of  the  conquering  race  was  to  gain  the  maximum 
advantage  from  the  conquest.  The  conquered  race  possessed  little 
that  could  be  seized  as  booty.  This  would  be  soon  consumed  and 
gone.  The  only  thing  the  conquered  race  possessed  that  had  any 
permanent  or  continued  value  was  its  power  of  serving  the  con- 
queror. This  could  not  escape  the  mind  of  the  latter,  however  low 
his  stage  of  intelligence,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  and  of  history,  so 
far  as  these  are  known,  this  has  been  perceived  and  generally  acted 
upon.  The  women  and  the  warriors  at  least,  and  as  many  others  as 
were  needed,  were  enslaved  and  compelled  to  serve  the  conquering 
race. 

The  motive  to  labor  is  no  longer  the  desire  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of 
labor.  This,  as  we  have  seen,  is  never  sufficient  to  induce  primitive 
man  to  perform  prolonged  and  arduous  tasks.  The  motive  now  is 
fear  of  the  lash.  The  slave  must  work  or  suffer  any  punishment 
his  savage  master  pleases  to  inflict.  If  flogging  does  not  suffice  he 
may  be  tortured,  and  if  torture  fails  he  will  be  killed.  No  pen  will 
ever  record  the  brutal  history  of  primitive  slavery  through  genera- 
tions and  even  centuries  of  which  mankind  was  taught  to  labor. 
The  bitterest  scenes  of  an  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  would  be  an  agreeable 
relief  from  the  contemplation  of  the  stern  realities  of  this  unwritten 
history.  It  will  never  be  known  how  many,  unable  to  adapt  them- 


272  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

selves  to  such  a  great  change  from  their  former  free,  wild,  capricious 
life,  failed,  faltered,  and  fainted  by  the  way  to  have  their  places 
taken  by  stronger,  more  flexible  and  more  adaptable  ones,  that  could 
bear  their  burdens  and  transmit  some  small  increment  of  their  new- 
found powers  of  endurance  to  their  posterity.  For  the  capacity  to 
labor  is  a  typical  "acquired  character"  that  has  been  transmitted 
in  minute  additions  from  parent  to  offspring  and  from  generation  to 
generation  of  slaves,  until  great  numbers  of  men  were  at  last  born 
with  a  "  natural "  or  constitutional  power  to  apply  themselves  to 
monotonous  tasks  during  their  whole  lives.  This  truth  has  been 
dimly  perceived  by  certain  writers,  but  its  immense  economic  im- 
portance has  been  almost  completely  overlooked. 

The  number  of  conquering  races  has  always  been  relatively  small 
and  the  number  of  conquered  races  has  of  course  been  correspond- 
ingly large.  This  came  at  length  to  mean  that  the  "  ruling  classes  " 
constituted  only  a  small  fraction  of  the  population  of  the  world, 
while  the  subject  classes  made  up  the  great  bulk  of  the  population. 
At  the  time  that  men  began  to  compile  rude  statistics  of  population, 
which  was  sparingly  done  before  the  beginning  of  our  era,  it  was 
found  that  the  slaves  far  outnumbered  the  "  citizens "  of  all  coun- 
tries. In  Athens  there  was  such  a  census  taken  in  the  year  309  B.C., 
when  there  were  found  to  be  21,000  citizens,  10,000  foreigners,  and 
400,000  slaves !  It  is  not,  therefore,  a  small  number  of  men  that 
have  been  thus  kept  in  training  all  these  ages,  but  practically  all 
mankind.  It  may  sound  paradoxical  to  call  slavery  a  civilizing 
agency,  but  if  industry  is  civilizing  there  is  no  escape  from  this 
conclusion,  for  it  is  probably  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  but  for 
this  severe  school  of  experience  continued  through  thousands  of 
generations,  there  could  have  been  nothing  corresponding  to  mod- 
ern industry.  And  right  here  is  a  corollary  which  Mr.  Spencer  and 
other  critics  of  militancy  have  failed  to  draw.  For  slavery,  as  they 
admit,  is  the  natural  and  necessary  outcome  of  war.  It  is  the 
initial  step  in  the  "  regime  of  status."  It  was  therefore  in  militarism 
that  the  foundations  of  industrialism  were  laid  in  social  adaptation. 
There  seems  to  be  no  other  way  by  which  mankind  could  have  been 
prepared  for  an  industrial  era.  Or  if  this  is  more  than  we  are 
warranted  in  saying,  it  is  at  least  true  that  this  is  the  particular 
way  in  which  men  were  fitted  for  the  role  that  they  have  been  play- 
ing in  the  past  two  centuries. 


CH.  xin]  PROPERTY  273 

\ 

PROPERTY 

An  animal  can  scarcely  be  said  to  possess  anything.  It  is  true 
that  predatory  animals  possess  their  prey  after  catching  it  and  while 
devouring  it,  and  dogs  will  fight  over  the  possession  of  a  bone,  but 
no  one  would  dignify  such  possession  with  the  name  of  property. 
The  primitive  hordes  of  men  may  be  said  to  possess  the  few  things 
needed  for  their  existence,  but  here  the  line  is  practically  drawn  at 
the  artificial.  Even  a  club  is  artificial.  The  skin  of  an  animal  used 
as  a  blanket  has  cost  the  effort  and  skill  of  skinning  the  animal,  and 
this  usually  presupposes  some  kind  of  instrument,  a  sharp-edged 
flint,  for  example,  and  such  things  may  be  said  to  "belong"  to  their 
"  owners."  But  for  most  of  the  possessions  of  undeveloped  races 
communal  or  group  ownership  is  the  prevalent  form.  One  may  call 
this  property,  but  it  is  at  best  only  an  embryonic  form  of  property 
in  an  economic  sense.  In  this  respect,  as  in  so  many  others,  the 
unassirnilated  races  are  sharply  marked  off  from  the  assimilated 
races.  I  prefer  these  sociological  terms  to  biological  ones,  but  there 
is  a  certain  advantage  in  having  both.  In  Chapter  X,  when  dealing 
with  the  genesis  of  society,  I  compared  the  phenomena  of  conquest 
and  subjugation  with  those  of  fecundation  in  living  organisms. 
In  Chapter  XI,  when  dealing  with  social  evolution,  I  compared 
the  same  phenomena  with  cross  fertilization.  Both  comparisons 
were  elucidating  and  altogether  appropriate.  But  this  shows  that 
they  are  not  "analogies,"  for  there  cannot  be  two  different  anal- 
ogies of  the  same  phenomenon.  They  are  simply  comparisons 
from  different  points  of  view  that  help  to  render  an  obscure  process 
clear. 

We  have  now  to  deal  with  the  same  phenomena  from  still  a  third 
point  of  view,  viz.,  from  that  of  the  origin  of  property.  It  is  clear 
that  neither  of  the  organic  operations,  fecundation,  cross  fertiliza- 
tion, previously  used  will  serve  here  as  a  term  of  comparison. 
There  is,  however,  another  still  more  fundamental  biologic  fact  that 
will  serve  as  such  term  not  only  here  but  in  many  other  cases.  The 
most  important  stage  in  organic  development,  after  the  origin  of 
life  itself,  is  unquestionably  that  which  marks  the  passage  from  the 
simple,  unicellular  condition  to  the  compound  multicellular  condi- 
tion, from  the  protozoic  or  protophytic  to  the  metazoic  or  metaphytic 
type  of  structure.  Now  the  primitive  horde,  which  has  already  been 


274  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

called  "  social  protoplasm," 1  and  has  even  been  likened  to  the  inde- 
pendent animal  cell,  or  the  Amoeba/  very  exactly  represents  the 
first  of  these  two  stages,  which  may  therefore  be  appropriately 
called  the  protosocial  stage,  and  the  horde  the  protosocial  type  of 
society,  while  the  whole  social  fabric  which  was  wrought  by  social 
integration  and  social  assimilation  may  be  called  the  metasocial  type, 
the  period  of  conquest,  subjugation,  fusion,  and  amalgamation  repre- 
senting the  metasocial  stage  of  social  development.  These  terms 
protosocial  and  metasocial5  seem  to  me  every  way  preferable  to 
Durkheim's  terms  " unsegmented "  and  "segmented"  which  are  also 
intended  as  biological  analogies,  but  do  not  correspond  to  any  definite 
stage  in  the  early  development  of  the  metasocial  type,  such  as  that 
of  the  origin  of  segmented  animals.  If  the  horde  is  only  social 
protoplasm  the  unsegmented  type  must  be  metasocial,  but  true 
social  tissues  were  formed  as  soon  as  two  societies  coalesced.  From 
this  time  on  we  may  have  a  science  of  social  histology.  And  here 
we  might  indulge  in  another  analogy  and  call  all  tissues  formed 
from  or  traceable  to  the  conquering  race  ectodermal,  all  formed  from 
or  traceable  to  the  conquered  race,  endodermal,  and  all  formed  from 
or  traceable  to  the  combined  and  commingled  mass  of  both  races 
who  are  neither  noble  nor  slave,  mesodermal.  These  comparisons 
are  certainly  better  than  those  of  Spencer. 

Returning  to  the  subject  of  property,  we  may  now  say  that  the 
protosocial  form  of  property  is  chiefly  communal,  while  the  meta- 
social form  is  individual  possession.  But  as  property  is  only  valua- 
ble in  so  far  as  it  satisfies  desire,  the  first  form  of  metasocial 
property  consisted  largely  in  slaves,  i.e.,  in  something  that  could 
serve  the  owner  and  satisfy  his  wants.  Beginning  with  women, 
used  both  to  gratify  the  lust  and  also  to  wait  on  the  person  of  the 
military  chief,  it  extended  to  men,  who  could  surround  him  with  all 
manner  of  luxuries  and  do  his  general  bidding.  The  other  princi- 
pal form  of  metasocial  property,  unknown  in  the  protosocial  state, 
was  land.  The  lower  races  lay  claim  to  certain  regions  of  country 

1  "  De  la  Division  du  Travail  Social,"  per  ^mile  Durkheim,  Paris,  1893,  p.  189. 

2  "  Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  von  Gustav  Ratzenhofer,  Leipzig,  1898,  p.  229. 

8  It  is  too  late  to  raise  the  objection  of  hybrid  Grseco-Latin  etymology,  as  has  been 
done  hi  the  case  of  the  word  sociology,  since  there  is  really  no  Greek  equivalent  for 
the  Latin  socius.  It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  sociology  is  the  only  science 
in  which  this  etymological  sin  has  been  committed.  The  name  of  so  well  established 
a  science  as  mineralogy  is  open  to  the  same  objection. 


CH.  xin]  PROPERTY  275 

over  which  they  are  accustomed  to  roam  in  search  of  animal  and 
vegetable  food,  but  no  one  member  of  the  group  pretends  to  an  ex- 
clusive right  to  any  subdivision  of  that  region.  But  after  the  con- 
quest of  one  race  by  another  the  leading  warriors  of  the  conquering 
race  lay  claim  to  all  the  territory  occupied  by  the  subject  race  and 
proceed  to  divide  it  up  among  themselves,  assigning  boundaries  to 
the  shares  of  each  individual.  This  assumes  more  complex  forms 
with  successive  assimilations,  and  ultimately  creates  the  latifundia 
and  the  feudal  fiefs.  All  the  other  forms  of  property  grow  out  of 
these  two  general  classes,  and  the  ruling  classes  come  into  the  pos- 
session of  flocks  and  herds,  castles,  vehicles,  tools,  weapons,  and 
everything  that  can  minister  to  a  life  of  ease  and  domination. 

But  this  is  only  a  general  view  of  the  economic  operations  of 
early  society  —  the  social  warp,  as  it  may  be  called.  Over  it  there 
is  everywhere  and  always  woven  a  social  woof,  which  is  not  less 
important  to  the  sociologist.  The  conception  of  two  antagonistic 
classes,  the  conquering  and  the  conquered,  falls  far  short  of  the  real 
state  of  things.  Both  these  classes  must  also  be  conceived  as 
thoroughly  heterogeneous.  All  this  was  considered  in  Chapter  X, 
where  the  whole  process  of  social  karyokinesis  was  described,  result- 
ing in  the  development  of  the  four  great  human  institutions,  law, 
the  state,  the  people,  and  the  nation.  Not  all  the  members  of  the 
dominant  race  are  chiefs,  rulers,  lords,  or  the  immediate  proteges  of 
these.  A  much  larger  number  are  simply  citizens  without  special 
claims  upon  the  rulers  and  obliged  to  maintain  themselves  by  their 
own  efforts.  Neither  are  all  the  members  of  the  subject  race  slaves. 
A  considerable  number  are  free  and  in  a  condition  not  widely  differ- 
ent from  the  class  last  mentioned.  The  two  races  are  virtually  equal 
in  natural  capacity,  and  the  process  of  mingling  the  blood  through 
intermarriage  is  rapidly  obliterating  race  lines.  These  two  wide 
margins  constantly  overlap,  interlace,  and  interpenetrate  each 
other,  serving  as  a  sort  of  leaven  for  the  generation  of  a  common 
people. 

The  true  economic  idea  of  property  is  the  possession  of  useful 
commodities  in  excess  of  immediate  needs.  It  is  based  on  the 
division  of  labor,  which  creates  all  things  in  excess  and  secures  their 
mutual  exchange.  As  has  been  pointed  out  by  many  writers,  property 
in  this  sense  is  impossible  except  under  the  protection  of  law  and 
under  the  power  of  the  state.  So  soon  as  these  institutions  are 


276  PURE    SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

formed  the  other  coordinate  human  institution  property  takes  form 
and  henceforth  constitutes  one  of  the  leading  civilizing  agents.  The 
distinction  between  meus  and  tuus  does  not  exist  in  the  mind  of 
primitive  man.  Whatever  any  one  has  possession  of  is  his  by  pos- 
session, but  there  is  no  such  notion  as  its  being  his  by  right.  If 
another  can  wrest  it  from  him  it  becomes  his,  and  so  indefinitely. 
The  idea  of  ownership  of  anything  in  possession  of  another,  or  of  a 
thing  regardless  of  where  it  may  be,  is  a  late  derivative  idea.  This 
is  the  idea  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  property,  and  there  could 
be  no  property  in  any  true  sense  until  this  idea  had  taken  firm  root 
in  society.  But  such  is  human  nature,  or  more  properly  speaking,  the 
natural  animal  constitution  of  man,  that  no  such  idea  could  arise 
in  the  protosocial  state.  The  substitute  for  it  was  communism,  which 
is  in  the  nature  of  a  modus  vivendi. 

After  conquest  the  possessions  of  the  subjugated  race  fall  for  the 
most  part  to  the  conquerors,  or  at  least  the  communistic  regime  ter- 
minates. What  with  sacking  and  pillaging  and  sequestering  and 
portioning,  the  incipient  metasocial  society  finds  itself  in  a  state  of 
economic  chaos,  and  the  process  of  social  karyokiuesis  affects  pos- 
sessions as  it  affects  persons.  The  large  penumbral  mass  who  are 
neither  slaves  nor  rulers  constitute  the  turbulent,  unmanageable 
element.  The  races  mingle,  at  first  mechanically,  but  in  time 
chemically  and  organically.  Interest  here  as  everywhere  unites, 
and  extremes  meet  on  a  sort  of  common  ground  of  struggle  for 
existence,  all  demanding  concessions  from  the  military  power. 
Every  one  seizes  whatever  he  can,  defends  it  by  force  or  hies  away 
with  it  to  a  place  of  safety.  He  hides  it  or  buries  it,  or  repairs 
to  the  solitude  to  enjoy  it  as  best  he  can.  Own  it  he  cannot,  and 
such  a  thing  as  property  in  any  modern  or  economic  sense  is 
impossible. 

No- matter  how  stern  and  unrelenting  the  military  power  may  be, 
the  state  of  things  ultimately  becomes  intolerable,  and  the  stage  of 
concession  on  the  one  hand  and  resignation  on  the  other  is  sooner  or 
later  reached,  followed  by  all  the  other  forms  of  social  equilibration, 
until  at  last  the  regime  of  law  begins,  rights  are  recognized,  and  the 
state  is  born.  Now  for  the  first  time  there  arises  the  possibility  of 
property,  and  it  is  at  this  stage  that  property  as  a  human  institution 
begins.  When  a  man  can  own  a  camel  or  a  buffalo  skin,  or  a  spear, 
or  a  bronze  ax,  and  be  secured  in  its  possession  without  having  to 


CH.  xin]  PROPERTY  277 

fight  for  it,  or  conceal  it,  it  becomes  property,  and  next  to  personal 
safety,  the  first  and  most  important  function  of  the  state  is  to 
guarantee  the  security  of  rightful  possession. 

Of  all  the  many  ways  in  which  the  principle  of  permanent  pos- 
session, or  property,  contributed  to  social  development,  the  principal 
one  was  the  incentive  it  furnished  to  accumulation.  Without  accum- 
ulation property  would  have  very  little  socializing  influence.  But 
when  it  is  seen  that  any  one  may  own  much  more  of  a  thing  than  he 
can  immediately  use,  can  hold  it  for  future  consumption,  or  can 
barter  it  for  other  things  that  he  does  not  possess,  he  will  begin  to 
acquire  as  large  an  amount  as  possible  of  that  which  he  can  most 
easily  obtain  and  hold  it  in  store  for  these  and  other  purposes. 
Until  this  was  possible  the  division  of  labor  was  useless,  and  hence 
we  see  that  the  division  of  labor,  which  is  usually  spoken  of  as  a 
very  primitive  condition,  was  impossible  until  the  state  was  formed. 
But  property  in  this  sense  means  much  more  still  than  this.  It  was 
the  basis  of  exchange,  of  trade,  of  commerce,  and  of  business  in 
general  as  well  as  of  industry  in  the  more  restricted  sense.  Property, 
which  is  of  course  only  a  means  to  enjoyment,  when  thus  guaranteed 
and  made  convertible  and  flexible,  is  made  an  end  and  is  pursued  as 
such.  A  new  desire,  a  new  want,  is  thus  created,  which  finally 
develops  into  the  most  imperative  of  all  wants.  Property  assumes 
the  character  of  wealth,  and  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  wholly  irrespec- 
tive of  the  power  to  use  it,  becomes  the  supreme  passion  of  mankind. 
Such  a  powerful  passion  is  of  course  sure  to  have  its  dark  side,  but 
considered  as  a  spur  to  activity  and  as  an  agent  in  transforming  the 
environment,  it  must  be  admitted  to  be  the  most  powerful  of  all  the 
motor  forces  of  society. 

A  large  part  of  the  final  intensity  that  this  passion  acquired  was 
of  course  due  to  the  adoption  at  a  certain  stage  of  the  movement  of 
a  symbol  or  representative  of  property^in  the  form  of  a  circulating 
medium,  or  money.  Through  this  device  all  forms  of  property 
became  blended  and  reduced  to  one,  and  the  pursuit  of  wealth  was 
converted  into  the  pursuit  of  money  which  .stands  for  wealth. 
Besides  the  legitimate  effect  in  giving  simplicity  and  ease  to  all 
business  transactions,  the  introduction  of  money  lent  an  additional 
charm  to  the  pursuit  of  wealth  and  greatly  intensified  the  passion. 
It  gave  rise  to  a  universal  plutolatry,  which  took  fantastic  forms, 
creating  both  misers  and  spendthrifts  on  the  opposite  margins  of  the 


278  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

social  beam,  but  which  had  for  its  main  and  solid  effect  to  penetrate 
and  illumine  the  darkest  corners  of  the  material  world.  To  it  the 
material  civilization  of  the  great  historic  races  is  chiefly  due.  As  a 
factor  in  human  achievement  this  super-preservative  social  force, 
"  the  love  of  money,"  has  had  no  rival,  and  still  remains  the  main- 
spring of  economic  and  industrial  activity.  If  to  the  moralist  it  is 
"  the  root  of  all  evil,"  to  the  sociologist,  studying  the  causes  of  social 
development,  it  is  the  root  of  all  the  good  there  is  in  material  civil- 
ization. As  shown  in  Chapter  XI,  this  is  the  result  of  efforts 
directed  toward  personal  ends  but  expended  on  the  means  to  the 
attainment  of  those  ends.  The  pursuit  of  wealth  acquires  its  highly 
dynamic  character  by  virtue  of  its  quality  of  keeping  the  end  remote 
from  the  means,  and  of  thus  rendering  the  effort  indefinitely  pro- 
longed and  practically  continuous. 

Production.  —  Production  is  the  creation  of  property.  This,  though 
true,  is  not  a  definition,  since  there  are  forms  of  property,  such  as 
land,  which  are  not  properly  produced.  But  production  is  only 
possible  through  labor,  and  is  therefore  an  exclusively  metasocial 
institution  or  operation.  Economists  give  a  very  broad  meaning  to 
production,  as  anything  that  creates  or  increases  value.  It  might 
naturally  be  supposed  that  under  a  system  of  slavery,  where  the 
majority  of  the  population  is  compelled  to  labor,  production  would 
be  very  rapid,  but  this  is  not  the  case.  However  large  the  number 
of  slaves  the  masters  find  ways  of  consuming  all  they  produce.  The 
non- working  classes,  though  numerically  small,  are  naturally  waste- 
ful. Mr.  Veblen  has  shown  how  the  mere  maintenance  of  caste 
requires  the  gratuitous  and  ostentatious  waste  of  property,  and  this 
is  greatly  increased  by  the  rivalry  in  displaying  wealth  on  the  part 
of  the  members  of  the  leisure  class.  The  maintenance  of  the  mili- 
tary rule  consumes  a  large  share,  and  another  large  portion  goes  to 
administration.  In  all  the  ^arly  societies  there  exists,  besides  the 
governing  class  properly  so  called,  a  sacerdotal  class,  which  is  a 
leisure  class  par  excellence.  This  class  is  habitually  the  recipient  of 
large  emoluments  and  costly  luxuries.  All  these  expenses  are  paid 
by  slave  labor  and  by  tribute  from  the  free  industrial  class.  Societies 
thus  organized  produce  little  in  excess  of  their  supposed  needs,  and 
slaveholding  nations  do  not  acquire  wealth.  That  modification  of 
this  condition  known  as  feudalism  also  represents  a  minimum  of 
production  and  of  wealth. 


on.  xni]  PRODUCTION  279 

The  earlier  economists  laid  great  stress  on  agriculture  and  the 
production  of  raw  materials,  and  did  not  clearly  see  to  how  great 
an  extent  the  value  of  the  latter  could  be  increased  by  skilled  labor 
expended  upon  them.  They  had  false  ideas  of  value,  and  it  is  only 
in  quite  recent  times  that  the  truth  has  gained  acceptance  that  value 
is  measured  by  the  satisfaction  yielded.  Seen  in  this  light  it  becomes 
clear  that  production  does  not  stop  at  any  stage  in  the  elaboration 
of  the  raw  materials,  but  that  the  utility  continues  to  increase  so 
long  as  the  labor  expended  adds  to  the  power  of  the  product  to 
satisfy  desire.  And  now  it  is  found  that  the  real  wealth  of  nations 
consists  chiefly  in  this  refinement  of  the  original  products.  Agri- 
cultural nations  are  never  rich,  and  mining  countries  do  not  become 
rich  until  provided  with  extensive  manufactories.  The  great  wealth 
of  the  leading  nations  of  the  world  at  the  present  time  is  almost 
wholly  due  to  machinofacture. 

The  sociological  importance  of  production  as  thus  understood 
consists  in  the  power  of  highly  elaborated  products  to  satisfy  desire, 
contribute  to  ease,  comfort,  and  the  enjoyment  of  life,  and  in  gen- 
eral, to  render  existence  tolerable  and  desirable.  Any  one  going  out 
of  the  centers  of  civilization  into  regions  where  "  modern  conven- 
iences" have  not  penetrated  immediately  feels  this,  and  wonders 
what  the  inhabitants  of  such  places  have  to  live  for.  It  is  curious 
that  such  "  blessings  of  civilization "  keep  in  the  very  van  of  the 
advancing  races.  They  are  much  more  universal  in  America  and,  I 
am  told,  in  Australia,  than  in  Europe.  An  American  of  moderate 
means  does  not  find  in  Britain  or  on  the  Continent  what  he  is  in  the 
habit  of  regarding  as  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life.  It  is  a  common 
mistake  to  suppose  that  men  usually  have  the  means  of  satisfying 
all  their  wants.  Aside  from  the  very  rich,  whose  unsatisfied  wants 
consist  of  things  that  money  will  not  buy,  every  one  at  all  times 
wants  unnumbered  things  that  money  would  buy  if  he  had  it.  And 
aside  from  the  abject  poor  that  swarm  in  the  richest  countries,  there 
is  the  great  toiling  proletariat  who  not  only  want  many  things  that 
they  never  dare  to  hope  for,  but  also  need  much  to  prevent  physical 
suffering.  There  is  therefore  call  for  a  greatly  increased  production, 
and  there  is  no  danger  that  too  many  useful  things  will  be  produced. 
But  here  we  encounter  a  problem  that  has  thus  far  baffled  econo- 
mists, sociologists,  social  reformers,  and  statesmen.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  solve  it,  nor  even  to  point  out  a  way  to  its  solution,  but 


280  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

if  I  can  succeed  in  formulating  a  clear  and  correct  statement  of  it  I 
shall  be  more  than  content. 

Social  Distribution.  —  The  principles  of  economic  distribution  are 
very  simple  and  have  been  repeatedly  set  forth.  With  them  we 
have  nothing  to  do  here.  But  what  may  be  distinguished  as  social 
distribution  presents  a  problem.  It  may  be  a  question  whether  it 
belongs  to  pure  sociology  at  all.  If  the  social  forces  do  not  produce 
it  it  does  not  so  belong.  But  if  they  do  produce  it,  even  to  a  very 
limited  extent,  it  comes  in  for  treatment  here.  Under  the  exact 
scientific  laws  of  political  economy  all  surplus  production  should  go 
to  the  ruling,  owning,  employing  class.  The  slave  of  course  owns 
nothing,  any  more  than  does  a  horse.  But  neither  should  the  wage 
worker  own  anything.  The  wage,  according  to  the  Ricardian  law,  is 
fixed  at  the  precise  amount  that  enables  him  to  live  and  reproduce. 
If  he  is  able  to  possess  anything  beyond  these  requirements  the  wage 
is  correspondingly  reduced.  If  he  weakens  and  fails  to  keep  up  his 
numbers  the  law  will  spontaneously  eke  out  his  wage  till  he  can 
again  keep  even.  It  acts  on  the  same  principle  as  the  law  of  prices, 
and  is  at  bottom  the  same  law,  since  it  has  maximum  profits  as  its 
basis.  Now,  the  question  is,  has  this  law  always  operated  rigidly 
in  society  ?  So  far  as  slavery  is  concerned  we  may  say  that  it  has, 
but  outside  of  slavery,  has  the  working  man  always  been  obliged  to 
be  content  with  the  means  of  subsistence,  including  that  of  a  family 
large  enough  to  insure  the  rearing  of  two  children  for  each  pair  to 
the  age  of  reproduction,  so  that  the  number  shall  not  diminish? 
If  anything  beyond  this  has  occurred,  then  there  has  been  social 
distribution  to  that  extent. 

It  can  now  be  seen  what  I  mean  by  social  distribution.  It  is  the 
socialization  of  wealth.  It  is  some  transgression  of  the  iron  law. 
It  is  the  existence  of  defects,  cracks,  pores,  and  fissures  in  the  eco- 
nomic dam,  by  which  some  small  part  at  least  of  the  surplus  produc- 
tion seeps  through  and  finds  its  way  into  the  hands  of  the  wage 
earner.  It  is  some  check  to  the  economic  law  whereby  wages  in  ex- 
cess of  those  required  to  live  and  reproduce  fail  to  cause  their  prompt 
contraction  to  that  point.  No  one  need  of  course  be  told  that  in  the 
present  state  of  the  world,  at  least,  this  process  is  going  on.  What 
is  supposed  to  be  the  final  answer  to  all  complaints  against  the  ex- 
isting industrial  system  is  that  the  laborer  is  receiving  an  increas- 
ingly larger  share  of  the  wealth  produced.  This  is  supposed  to 


CH.  xin]  SOCIAL   DISTRIBUTION  281 

dispose  of  the  whole  question  and  relegate  all  the  dissatisfied  to  the 
ranks  of  social  agitators,  and  there  is  no  lack  of  statistical  proof  of 
this  fact.  As  this  same  argument  has  been  used  for  about  two  hun- 
dred years  we  may  assume  that  it  has  been  true  during  that  time, 
and  it  is  a  fair  inference  that  it  has  always  been  true  to  some  extent. 
The  flaw  in  the  logic  consists  in  assuming  that  it  is  in  any  sense  an 
answer  to  the  demand  for  more  complete  social  distribution.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  is  an  admission  of  the  justice  of  such  a  demand. 
It  is  never  maintained  that  the  laborer  gets  too  large  a  share  of  the 
wealth  produced.  It  is  always  held  that  he  gets  a  larger  amount 
now  than  at  some  previous  period  and  should  therefore  be  satisfied. 
But  as  at  any  such  previous  period  the  same  statement  was  made 
and  is  supposed  to  be  true,  there  is  the  implied  admission  that  if 
what  he  gets  now  is  the  just  share,  what  he  received  then  was 
something  less  than  the  just  share.  And  as  all  this  applies  to  all 
past  periods  and  will  apply  to  all  future  ones,  the  inference  is  fair 
that  there  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  laborer  received  a  just 
share  of  the  wealth  produced.  But  all  this  belongs  to  applied  soci- 
ology, one  of  the  chief  problems  of  which  is  to  formulate  the  laws 
and  indicate  the  methods  of  a  perfect  social  distribution  of  wealth. 

We  are  content  to  have  discovered  that  the  social  forces  have 
spontaneously  secured  some  degree  of  social  distribution,  and  we 
may  cast  a  glance  at  some  of  the  special  causes  that  have  produced 
this  result.  The  principal  cause  is  the  heterogeneity  of  all  meta- 
social  groups.  It  is  impossible  at  the  outset  for  the  ruling  class  to 
obtain  a  complete  monopoly  of  labor,  and  after  the  establishment  of 
civil  law  and  the  formation  of  the  state,  whereby  rights  to  property 
were  recognized,  the  economic  laws  operating  among  individuals  of 
all  degrees  of  inequality  of  mind  and  character,  soon  generated  a 
sort  of  archetypal  bourgeoisie  with  a  multiplicity  of  small  owners 
of  varying  degrees.  The  rise  of  the  feudal  system  interrupted  the 
natural  development  of  this  state  of  things  and  its  gradual  trans- 
formation into  the  modern  industrial  system,  but  this  transformation 
was  ultimately  brought  about.  As  all  know,  the  exploiting  class 
then  became  chiefly  the  bourgeoisie,  and  under  legal  and  political 
protection,  especially  after  the  era  of  machinery  began,  wealth 
passed  into  the  hands  of  industrial  leaders,  and  the  great  economic 
struggle  began.  But  industry  had  now  become  greatly  diversified, 
the  remote  regions  of  the  world  had  been  opened  up,  and  there  were 


282  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  ir 

innumerable  outlets  for  the  laborer,  dissatisfied  with  his  lot.  The 
great  differences  in  ability  and  character  among  workmen  produced 
grades  and  stimulated  ambition.  Exceptionally  bright  hands  were 
called  to  more  lucrative  places,  compelling  employers  to  raise  wages 
in  order  to  retain  their  best  men.  Those  who  had  received  the  higher 
grades  of  salary  for  considerable  time  found  themselves  in  position 
to  withdraw  and  set  up  business  for  themselves,  thus  becoming  em- 
ployers and  perhaps  "  captains  of  industry."  Such  are  a  few  of  the 
ways  in  which  the  iron  law  of  wages  has  been  gradually  mitigated, 
and  social  distribution  secured.  One  need  not  be  a  panegyrist  of 
natural  law  in  the  economic  world  to  recognize  the  power  of  the 
ontogenetic  forces  to  keep  up  a  difference  of  potential  and  convert 
economic  structures  into  systems  of  moving  equilibrium.  There 
has  been  some  social  distribution  from  the  earliest  times,  and  it  is 
increasing  with  increasing  production.  Under  the  division  of  labor, 
especially  in  the  mechanic  arts,  production  increases  as  the  square 
of  the  number  employed,  reversing  the  Malthusian  law,  and  the 
socjal  distribution  is  a  function  of  the  amount  of  production  per 
capita.  If  for  no  other  purpose,  therefore,  than  to  increase  the 
social  distribution,  increase  of  production  is  a  social  desideratum. 
The  laborer  becomes  an  element  in  the  market,  and  it  is  more  and 
more  the  interest  of  the  proprietor  of  goods  to  let  him  share  in  their 
consumption.  Increased  production  means  diminished  price,  and 
the  latter  at  last  comes  within  the  resources  of  the  real  producer. 
Consumption.  —  If  political  economy  has  nothing  to  do  with  con- 
sumption, sociology  has  everything  to  do  with  it.  Consumption 
means  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  which  is  the  ultimate  end  of  cona- 
tion. In  Chapter  XI  we  analyzed  a  dynamic  action  and  found  that 
the  only  effect  that  the  individual  is  conscious  of  seeking  is  the  sat- 
isfaction of  desire.  The  other  effects,  viz.,  the  preservation  of  life 
and  the  modification  of  the  surroundings,  are  incidental  and  indif- 
ferent to  him.  Although  the  vast  importance  of  these  two  latter 
effects  makes  this  first  one  seem  paltry  and  trivial,  nevertheless  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  but  for  it  the  action  would  not  be  per- 
formed at  all,  and  all  would  be  lost.  But  if  we  abandon  for  a 
moment  the  high  standpoint  of  nature's  end  in  a  scheme  of  universal 
evolution,  and  temporarily  ignore  the  somewhat  less  exalted  stand- 
point of  social  progress,  we  may  concentrate  attention  upon  the  end, 
and  the  only  possible  end,  of  the  individual,  the  satisfaction  of 


CH.  xin]  PAIN  AND  PLEASURE   ECONOMY  283 

desire,  the  enjoyment  of  life,  in  short,  human  happiness,  and  we 
shall  see  that  it  is  not  such  a  trivial  object  as  it  at  first  appeared. 

While  the  particular  element  in  an  action  which  is  dynamic  is  its 
direct  and  unintended  effect  in  transforming  the  environment,  the 
prospect  of  consumption  is  the  essential  condition  to  the  action 
itself,  and  therefore,  with  a  slight  ellipsis,  it  may  be  said,  and  has 
been  perceived  and  remarked  by  several  economists  (Jevons,  Walker, 
Patten),  that  consumption  is  the  dynamic  element  in  political  econ- 
omy. Dynamic  economics,  if  any  one  prefers  to  call  it  so,  is  based 
on  consumption.  It  may  also  be  called  subjective  economics.  More 
closely  analyzed,  it  is  found  to  lie  at  the  foundation  of  the  true 
conception  of  value,  the  measure  of  which  is  the  quantity  of  pleas- 
ure experienced  or  yielded  by  the  product  consumed.  But  all  this, 
if  economics  at  all,  is  transcendental  economics,  and  really  belongs 
to  the  domain  of  sociology,  which  starts  with  consumption,  where 
economics  leaves  off,  and  becomes  the  science  of  welfare.1 

Pain  and  Pleasure  Economy.  —  Sociology  is  indebted  to  Dr.  Simon 
N.  Patten  for  the  terms  "  pain  economy  "  and  "  pleasure  economy," 2 
and  for  their  justification  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Struck  with 
the  importance  of  the  truth  embodied  in  these  terms,  I  have  on  two 
occasions3  endeavored  to  point  out  applications  of  them  not  made 
by  Dr.  Patten  and  to  show  the  deeper  psychologic  and  biologic 
foundations  of  the  subject.  These  considerations  have  been  still 
more  fully  set  forth  in  this  work,  especially  in  Chapter  VII,  and 
their  relation  to  the  subject  of  the  present  chapter  is  now  clear. 

The  somewhat  paradoxical  fact  was  noted  in  the  last  chapter 
that  the  essential  or  physical  social  forces  are  negative  in  the 
sense  that  they  have  for  their  chief  purpose  to  rid  mankind  of 
goading  and  tormenting  wants,  while  the  positive  satisfactions 
yielded  in  so  doing,  though  intense,  are  so  brief  as  to  possess  no 
volume,  and  that  the  chief  result  is  therefore  relief  from  pain.  Dr. 

1  The  ablest  analysis  of  this  distinction  with  which  I  am  acquainted  is  to  he  found 
in  a  series  of  papers  by  Professor  H.  H.  Powers,  entitled,  "  Wealth  and  Welfare,"  in 
the  Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  XII, 
November,  1898,  pp.  325-357;  Vol.  XIII,  January,  1899,  pp.  57-80;  March,  1899,  pp. 
173-211. 

2  "  The  Theory  of  Social  Forces,"  Supplement  to  the  Annals  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  VII,  No.  1,  January,  1896,  pp.  75  ff. 

8  "  Utilitarian  Economics,"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  Ill,  January,  1898, 
pp.  520-536;  "  L'^conomie  de  la  Douleur  et  1'lSconomie  du  Plaisir,"  Annales  de 
I'Institut  International  de  Sociologie,  Vol.  IV,  Paris,  1898,  pp.  89-132. 


284  PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Patten  states  that  the  animal  world  represents  a  pain  economy,  and 
the  interpretation  of  this  is  that  -all  the  wants  of  an  animal  belong 
to  the  physical  class.  The  same  is  true  of  primitive  man,  and  the 
protosocial  stage,  which  is  sometimes  described  as  idyllic,  is  so  in 
the  same  sense  as  in  the  animal.  Probably  no  such  positive  term  as 
happiness  would  be  applicable  to  either.  If  progress  means  any- 
thing more  than  the  objective  fact  of  increasing  complexity  of 
organization,  if  it  has  any  subjective  meaning  at  all,  it  must  con- 
sist in  an  increase  in  the  relative  degree  to  which  the  end  of  the 
organism  or  the  individual  is  secured.  A  state  in  which  the  end 
of  the  creature  is  completely  subordinated  to  the  end  of  nature,  in 
which  function  is  everything  and  feeling  is  nothing,  is  a  typical 
pain  economy,  and  subjective  progress  throughout  the  sentient  world 
consists  in  an  increasing  recognition  of  the  claims  of  feeling. 

Animals  and  the  inferior  types  of  men  literally  "eat  to  live." 
The  stomach  is  the  main  seat  of  the  nutrient  attraction.  The 
food  is  put  there  as  quickly  as  possible  and  not  allowed  to  linger 
on  the  way  to  tickle  the  papillae  of  the  tongue  and  palate.  Feed 
a  hungry  dog  bits  of  meat  and  watch  the  process  of  deglutition. 
The  interval  between  the  time  when  the  morsel  touches  the  animal's 
jaws  till  it  is  safely  landed  in  the  stomach  is  as  short  as  the  action 
of  the  organs  can  possibly  make  it.  It  is  so  nearly  instantaneous 
that  the  eye  can  scarcely  follow  the  wave  that  flits  along  the 
throat  during  the  act  of  swallowing.  It  cannot  be  said  that  such 
an  animal  takes  any  pleasure  in  eating.  The  demand  for  nutri- 
tion is  so  imperious  that  it  wholly  excludes  all  other  considera- 
tions. The  satisfaction  is  no  doubt  intense,  but  the  enjoyment  is 
nil.  I  have  heard  ethnologists  describe  the  manner  in  which  the 
Chinook  Indians  eat  the  shellfish  and  other  sea  food  that  they 
gather  on  the  shores  of  Alaska,  the  refuse  of  which  form  the  kitchen 
middens  of  that  region,  and  it  accords  with  the  above  description 
of  the  way  animals  eat.  It  is  characterized  by  excessive  gluttony 
and  the  quickest  possible  dispatch  of  the  meal,  which  receives  no 
preparation  except  to  detach  the  animal  from  its  shell  in  the 
most  expeditious  manner  possible.  Mr.  Spencer,  in  support  of  two 
very  different  propositions,  has  collected  a  large  number  of  such 
facts,1  but  they  certainly  illustrate  the  principle  here  under  con- 

1  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1877,  pp.  49-52  (§  26) ;  "Principles 
of  Ethics,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1892,  pp.  436-438  (§  174). 


on.  xin]  PAIN   AND   PLEASURE   ECONOMY  285 

sideration  equally  well.  It  might  almost  be  said  that  the  length 
of  time  it  requires  for  food  to  pass  from  the  lips  to  the  stomach  is 
a  measure  of  civilization.  It  typifies  the  transition  from  a  com- 
plete subjection  to  function  to  a  recognition  of  feeling  as  also  an 
end,  from  a  regime  of  necessity  to  a  regime  of  utility,  from  mere 
negative  satisfaction  to  positive  enjoyment,  from  a  pain  economy 
to  a  pleasure  economy. 

Such  a  movement  there  has  been  throughout  the  history  of  human 
development,  and  it  has  not  been  confined  to  the  ontogenetic  forces 
of  society,  but  it  is  clearly  characterized  in  them.  In  connection 
with  food  alone  it  has  consisted  in  a  general  improvement  in  the 
palatableness  of  food.  Instead  of  being  eaten  in  its  natural  state 
nearly  all  food  is  now  prepared,  the  most  important  part  of  the 
preparation  consisting  in  cooking  it.  This  preparation  of  food, 
besides  greatly  increasing  the  number  of  food  products,  converting 
into  food  many  things  that  previously  were  not  edible,  has  chiefly 
tended  to  render  all  kinds  of  food  better,  more  savory,  more  palat- 
able and  toothsome,  and  thus  to  convert  the  mitritive  act  from  a 
mere  imperative  necessity  into  a  greater  and  greater  source  of  en- 
joyment. Along  with  this,  and  as  a  consequence  of  it,  there  has 
gone  an  increased  inclination  to  masticate  food,  and  thus  to  prolong 
the  period  of  this  enjoyment.  The  habit  of  eating  slowly,  of  pro- 
viding a  variety  of  articles  of  food,  of  preparing  them  in  a  variety 
of  ways,  of  combining  them  variously,  and  of  seasoning  food,  and 
all  the  arts  of  modern  cookery  —  all  this  represents  the  same  proc- 
ess of  seeking  to  derive  the  maximum  good  from  the  physical 
necessity  of  eating.  Busy  men,  and  especially  scientific  men,  often 
complain  of  the  time  consumed  not  only  in  eating  but  more  in  the 
preparation  of  food  which  involves  so  large  an  expense,  and  latterly 
we  have  been  hearing  of  the  proposed  "  synthetic  food,"  prepared 
in  the  chemical  laboratory,  and  consisting  of  the  essence  of  the  most 
nutritious  substances  in  a  form  that  can  be  taken  without  loss  of 
time  and  at  such  intervals  as  the  system  may  demand.  They  should 
know  that  this,  instead  of  a  step  forward,  would  be  a  return  not 
only  to  the  savage,  but  to  the  animal  method ;  but  if  it  represents 
the  completion  of  a  cycle,  we  may  perhaps  be  thankful  that  it  can- 
not be  realized. 

Not  less  marked  has  been  the  tendency  in  the  same  general  direc- 
tion in  the  satisfaction  of  the  defensive  and  protective  wants  of 


286  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PARTII 

mankind.  If  we  leave  out  the  means  of  protection  from  human 
enemies  in  the  form  of  offensive  and  defensive  weapons,  these  con- 
sist chiefly  in  clothing,  shelter,  and  fuel.  To  review  the  progress  in 
all  these  would  be  both  tedious  and  unnecessary,  but  we  have  only 
to  point  to  architecture  as  an  esthetic  art  to  show  that  the  movement 
was  toward  the  realization  of  ideals,  and  that  the  needs  of  existence 
soon  ceased  to  be  the  motive  that  caused  man  to  build.  Here,  of 
course,  the  problem  is  complicated  by  the  religious  element,  which 
was  long  the  chief  spur  to  architectural  progress.  In  modern 
times  the  chief  architectural  motive  is  comfort,  which,  after  all, 
is  the  same  as  pleasure,  enjoyment,  happiness.  Almost  the  same 
might  be  said  of  clothing,  except  that  here  the  field  was  more 
open  for  the  extravagances  •  of  fashion,  and  even  these  are  a  form 
of  enjoyment  for  those  constituted  to  prefer  them.  Upon  the 
whole  the  evolution  of  dress  has  conduced  to  the  fullness  of 
social  life. 

The  relation  that  the  full  satisfaction  of  men's  wants  bears  to 
the  physical  and  mental  development  of  the  race  is  of  the  highest 
interest  to  the  sociologist.  Many  travelers  (Cook,  Ellis^  Erskine, 
etc.,)  have  noted  the  superior  size  of  the  chiefs  and  rulers  of  the 
lower  races,  and  the  fact  seems  to  be  general.  The  usual  explana- 
tion is  that  the  most  robust  and  physically  powerful  of  a  tribe  are 
always  chosen  as  leaders.  There  may  be  some  truth  in  this,  but 
where  the  ruling  class  is  hereditary  much  of  it  is  doubtless  to  be 
explained  by  the  better  nutrition  of  that  class,  always  having 
plenty  to  eat  and  being  well  protected  from  whatever  the  unfriendly 
elements  of  the  environment  may  be,  while  the  subjects  are  often 
insufficiently  nourished  and  are  exposed  to  these  unfriendly  elements. 
This  state  of  things,  continued  through  many  generations,  would 
bring  about  all  the  observed  difference  in  the  two  classes. 

It  -is  also  often  remarked  that  civilized  men  are  usually  superior 
to  savages  physically  as  well  as  mentally.  On  this  point  Darwin 
remarks  :  — 

Although  civilization  thus  checks  in  many  ways  the  action  of  natural 
selection,  it  apparently  favors,  by  means  of  improved  food  and  the  freedom 
from  occasional  hardships,  the  better  development  of  the  body.  This  may 
be  inferred  from  civilized  men  having  been  found,  wherever  compared,  to  be 
physically  stronger  than  savages.  They  appear  also  to  have  equal  powers  of 
endurance,  as  has  been  proved  in  many  adventurous  expeditions.  Even  the 
great  luxury  of  the  rich  can  be  but  little  detrimental ;  for  the  expectation 


CH.  xin]  PAIN   AND   PLEASURE   ECONOMY  287 

of  life  of  our  aristocracy,  at  all  ages  and  of  both  sexes,  is  very  little  inferior 
to  that  of  healthy  English  lives  in  the  lower  classes.1 

The  general  physical  superiority  of  great  men  in  all  departments, 
notwithstanding  certain  marked  exceptions  which  have  attracted 
attention  because  anomalous,  has  also  been  occasionally  noted.  Gal- 
ton  expresses  a  feeling  I  have  often  experienced,  when  he  says :  "  A 
collection  of  living  magnates  in  various  branches  of  intellectual 
achievement  is  always  a  feast  to  my  eyes ;  being,  as  they  are,  such 
massive,  vigorous,  capable-looking  animals." 2  A  false  notion  to  the 
contrary  of  all  this  prevails,  but  one  has  only  to  look  around.  Go 
into  any  business  establishment  and  you  will  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  instantly  pick  out  the  proprietor  by  his  superior  physique.  He 
is  usually  the  largest  man  present,  and  his  hale,  active,  independent 
mien  at  once  impresses  you  with  his  general  superiority  over  all  the 
journeymen,  clerks,  employees,  and  even  the  foremen  and  chiefs  of 
departments  in  the  business,  whatever  it  may  be.  This  is  as  true  of 
a  store  where  all  the  employees  are  well  dressed  as  of  a  shop  where 
most  of  them  wear  working  clothes.  And  it  is  pretty  generally  true 
not  only  that  a  sound  mind  requires  a  sound  body,  but  that  superior 
minds,  including  all  the  qualities  of  character  that  insure  success, 
are  associated  with  superior  bodies,  usually  larger  than  the  mean  for 
the  race,  and  well  formed,  healthy,  active,  and  strong. 

Galton  would  concede  all  this,  but  his  conclusion  from  it  is  false, 
or  at  least  only  half  true.  It  is  that  these  men  are  where  they  are 
because  they  are  superior.  It  would  probably  be  more  nearly  true 
to  say  that  they  are  superior  because  they  are  where  they  are.  The 
real  truth  lies  between  these  two  propositions.  Galton  has  empha- 
sized the  first.  The  second  should  be  fully  recognized.  Life  is  very 
flexible.  It  adapts  itself  to  circumstances.  Its  preservation  is  so 
essential  that  it  cannot  be  destroyed  by  reducing  the  amount  of  nutri- 
tion. In  the  history  of  life  there  have  been  wide  vicissitudes  in  this 
respect,  and  the  organism  has  been  adapted  and  adjusted  to  these 
vicissitudes.  If  food  is  abundant  the  organism  comes  up  to  that 
standard  and  is  correspondingly  robust.  If  the  supply  falls  off  the 
standard-  is  lowered  to  correspond,  but  life  goes  on.  Unless  too 
sudden  a  great  diminution  of  the  supply  can  thus  be  sustained  with- 
out destroying  life.  The  creature  becomes  what  is  called  "  stunted," 

1  "  Descent  of  Man,"  New  York,  1871,  Vol.  I,  p.  164. 

2  "  Hereditary  Genius,"  London,  1892,  p.  321. 


288  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [I-AKTII 

but  does  not  perish.  If  life  is  thereby  shortened,  then,  by  a  curious 
law  of  compensation,  fecundity  is  correspondingly  increased.  The 
botanist  soon  learns  where  to  find  the  plants  farthest  advanced  in 
the  process  of  flowering  or  fruiting.  It  is  where  the  soil  is  poorest. 
But  the  specimens  will  be  depauperate,  though  bearing  an  abundance 
of  precocious  fruit.  And  the  gardener  who  does  not  want  his  plants 
to  fruit  at  all  has  only  to  make  the  soil  exceedingly  rich  and  they 
will  bear  luxuriant  foliage  but  no  flowers.  It  is  the  same  with  ani- 
mals. Reproduction  and  nutrition  are  inversely  proportional.  The 
poorest  and  most  starved  and  puny  are  the  most  prolific.  It  is  so 
with  the  human  race.  The  poor  and  underfed  have  the  largest 
families;  the  low  quarters  of  cities,  occupied  by  laborers  and  me- 
chanics, swarm  with  children;  the  rich  have  small  families,  and,  as 
Kidd  says,  society  is  perpetually  recruited  from  the  base.1 

It  follows  from  all  this  that  there  is  scarcely  any  such  thing  as 
"  over-nutrition " 2  as  a  social  condition,  although  of  course  it  is 
often  an  individual  fact ;  or  rather  we  should  say,  over-eating,  and 
especially  the  eating  of  improper  things  made  palatable  by  the  arts 
of  cookery,  is  a  common  occurrence  with  the  leisure  class.  This 
belongs  to  the  same  class  of  phenomena  as  other  forms  of  intemper- 
ance and  relates  to  social  pathology.  Dr.  Maurel3  ascribes  to  it 
a  considerable  part  of  the  diminished  birthrate  of  France,  giving 
to  the  diseases  to  which  it  gives  rise  the  general  name  of  arthritism, 
which  includes,  along  with  infecundity,  such  maladies  as  gout,  rheu- 
matism, gravel,  calculus,  diabetes,  etc.  These  are  unnatural  forms 
of  living  that  follow  from  excessive  social  inequalities  not  controlled 
by  science  or  good  morals,  and  do  not  concern  us  here. 

Ample  natural  nutrition  enjoyed  by  a  whole  people  or  by  a  large 
social  class  will  cause  a  healthy  development  which  will  ultimately 
show  itself  through  physical  and  mental  superiority.  Thus  far, 
such  has  been  the  history  of  mankind  that  it  has  always  been  a 
special  class  that  has  been  able  to  obtain  the  means  thus  fully  to 
nourish  the  body.  That  class  has  always  been  superior  physically 
to  the  much  larger  class  that  has  always  been  inadequately  nourished. 
Adequate  protection  from  the  elements  in  the  way  of  houses,  clothes, 

1  "  Social  Evolution,"  New  Edition,  New  York,  1894,  p.  263. 

2  "Over-nutrition  and  its  Social  Consequences,"  by  Simon  N.   Patten,  Annals 
of  the  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Philadelphia,  Vol.  X,  pp.  33-53. 

8  "  De  la  Depopulation  de  la  France,  Etude  sur  la  Natalite,"  par  E.  Maurel,  Paris, 
1896. 


CH.  xin]  PAIN   AND   PLEASURE   ECONOMY  289 

and  fires,  tends  in  the  same  direction,  while  improper  exposure 
dwarfs  and  deforms  both  body  and  mind.  Leisure,  in  the  proper 
sense  of  exemption  from  the  necessity  of  making  painful  and  pro- 
longed exertion,  coupled  with  such  physical  and  mental  exercise  as 
the  system  demands,  or  the  normal  use  of  all  the  faculties,  cooper- 
ates with  full  nutrition  and  adequate  protection  to  develop  the 
faculties  and  perfect  the  man.  On  the  other  hand  compulsory 
exertion  in  the  form  of  excessive  and  protracted  labor  blunts  and 
stunts  all  the  faculties  and  tends  to  produce  a  more  or  less  deformed, 
stiffened,  and  distorted  race  of  men.  When  we  remember  that  in 
real  truth  these  two  opposite  influences  have  been  at  work  in  human 
society  ever  since  its  organization,  with  the  intense  persistence  of 
caste  conditions  working  to  prevent  the  mixing  of  the  classes,  we 
have  abundant  cause  for  all  the  observed  physical  and  mental 
inequalities  in  men.  The  reason  why  this  explanation  is  not  clearer 
is  that  during  the  past  three  centuries  the  original  conditions  have 
been  disturbed  and  a  great  social  panmixia  has  been  going  on, 
greatly  obscuring  the  elements  of  the  problem.  Still,  although 
slavery  has  been  abolished  and  the  feudal  system  overthrown,  the 
new  industrial  system  is  largely  repeating  the  pristine  conditions, 
and  in  the  Old  World  especially,  and  more  and  more  in  the  New, 
class  distinctions  prevail,  and  differences  of  nutrition,  of  protection, 
and  of  physical  exertion  are  still  keeping  up  the  distinction  of  a 
superior  and  an  inferior  class.  The  former  has  come  up  to  the  limit 
of  its  possibilities ;  the  latter  is  arrested  on  the  plane  at  which  it 
can  exist  and  reproduce.  And  thus  is  exemplified  the  truth  that 
there  is  in  the  German  calembour  of  Moleschott:  "man  ist  was  man 
isst."  This,  too,  is  the  great  truth  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
so-called  "  historical  materialism."  Not  only  does  civilization  rest 
upon  a  material  basis  in  the  sense  that  it  consists  in  the  utilization 
of  the  materials  and  forces  of  nature,  but  the  efficiency  of  the  human 
race  depends  absolutely  upon  food,  clothing,  shelter,  fuel,  leisure, 
and  liberty. 


CHAPTER   XIV 
THE   PHYLOGENETIC   FORCES 

THE  proper  subject  of  this  chapter  would  be  the  influence  exerted 
by  those  forces  that  have  reproduction  for  their  functional  end  in 
the  direction  of  creating  and  transforming  social  structures.  Keep- 
ing in  view,  however,  the  genetic  method  of  treatment,  the  subject 
demands,  much  more  than  that  of  the  preceding  chapter,  that  deep 
explorations  be  made  into  the  remote  and  obscure  beginnings  and 
prehuman  course  of  things  leading  up  to  and  explaining  the  facts 
that  lie  on  the  surface  of  the  highly  artificial  and  conventionalized 
society  of  to-day.  In  view,  too,  of  the  almost  unexplored  field  in 
which  this  must  be  done,  compared  with  the  overdone  domain  of  the 
economic  forces  passed  over  in  the  last  chapter,  the  apparently  un- 
even and  much  more  extended  treatment  of  the  present  subject  is 
fully  justified.  A  glance  at  the  number  and  variety  of  heads  and 
subheads  into  which  the  subject  naturally  falls,  none  of  which  can 
be  wholly  ignored,  is  sufficient  to  show  that  it  might  easily,  and 
should  properly,  be  expanded  into  a  book  instead  of  condensed  into 
a  chapter. 

REPRODUCTION  A  I?ORM  OF  NUTRITION 

The  subject  may  really  be  regarded  as  only  a  continuation  of  that 
of  the  preceding  chapter,  since  no  fact  in  biology  is  better  estab- 
lished than  that  reproduction  represents  a  specialized  mode  of  nu- 
trition through  the  renewal  of  the  organism,  which,  for  reasons  that 
we  cannot  here  stop  to  point  out,  if  indeed  they  can  be  said  to  be 
fully  known,  cannot  be  continued  indefinitely.  "  The  process  of  re- 
production," says  Haeckel,  "  is  nothing  more  than  a  growth  of  the 
organism  beyond  its  individual  mass." *  The  biological  ground  for 
this  statement  will  be  set  forth  a  little  later,  but  may  now  be  di- 
rectly connected  with  the  fact  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter  that 

1  Der  Vorgang  der  Fortpflanzung  ist  weiter  Nichts  als  ein  Wachsthum  des  Organ- 
ismus  iiber  sein  individuelles  Maass  hinaus.  "  Natiirliche  Schopfungsgeschichte," 
von  Ernst  Haeckel,  achte  Auflage,  Berlin,  1889,  p.  167. 

290 


CH.  xiv]  THE   ANDROCENTRIC  THEORY  291 

the  arrest  of  nutrition  hastens  reproduction,  while  abundant  nutri- 
tion checks,  and  may  even  prevent  reproduction.  If  we  recognize 
only  two  forms  of  nutrition,  natural  selection  determines  which  form 
shall  be  employed.  Individual  nutrition  will  be  continued  so  long 
as  there  is  no  danger  of  the  individual  being  cut  off.  Ultra-individ- 
ual nutrition  will  begin  as  soon  as  there  arises  a  chance  of  the  indi- 
vidual being  cut  off,  and  it  will  be  emphasized  by  any  direct  threat 
to  the  life  of  the  individual.  Hence  reproduction  is  not  possible  in 
animals  to  the  young  that  are  growing  rapidly,  nor  to  plants  that 
are  over-nourished.  Trees  always  die  first  at  the  top,  but  it  is  alsoj 
at  the  top  that  they  first  flower  and  mature  their  fruit. 

This  general  fact  is  sufficient  reason  for  treating  the  ontogenetic 
before  the  phylogenetic  forces,  although  from  the  standpoint  of 
their  importance  the  latter  may  be  given  precedence.  The  race  is 
certainly  of  more  consequence  than  the  individual,  and  is  that  for 
which  nature  seems  chiefly  to  care,  but  when  the  individual  is 
looked  upon  as  being  simply  prolonged  and  to  merge  into  a  new  in- 
dividual, the  individual  is  seen  to  be  all  and  to  embrace  or  consti- 
tute the  race.  The  race  or  species  becomes  an  ideal,  an  abstract 
conception,  and  the  individual  the  only  thing  that  is  real.  The 
case  is  analogous  to  that  of  "society,"  in  contradistinction  to  the 
individual  members  of  society.  Society  exists  only  for  the  members 
and  in  preserving  the  members  the  society  is  preserved.  So  of  the 
race.  If  the  individuals  continue  to  live  over  into  one  another,  as 
reproduction  provides,  the  race  is  conserved.  Reproduction  is 
therefore  not  only  ultra-nutrition,  in  going  beyond  the  individual, 
but  it  is  altro-nutrition,  in  carrying  the  process  to  and  into  another. 
It  is,  as  we  shall  see,  the  beginning  of  altruism.  As  it  preserves 
the  race  or  phylum,  it  is  the  condition  to  phylogenesis,  and  as  con- 
necting these  two  ideas,  it  may  be  called  phylotrophy,  or  race  nutri- 
tion, and  stand  opposed  to  ontotrophy,  or  individual  nutrition. 

THE  ANDROCENTRIC    THEORY 

I  propose  to  present  two  theories  to  account  for  the  existing  rela- 
tions between  the  sexes,  between  which  the  reader  can  choose  accord- 
ing to  the  constitution  of  his  mind,  or  he  can  reject  both.  The  first 
I  call  the  androcentric  theory,  the  second  the  gyncecocentric  theory.  I 
shall,  however,  set  down  the  principal  facts  known  to  science  in 
support  of  each  of  these  theories,  and  these  may  not  be  accepted  or 


292  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

rejected  at  will.  They  may  be  verified,  or  even  proved  false,  but 
unless  they  are  shown  to  be  false  and  not  facts  at  all,  they  must 
stand  on  one  side  or  the  other  of  the  argument. 

The  androcentric  theory  is  the  view  that  the  male  sex  is  primary 
and  the  female  secondary  in  the  organic  scheme,  that  all  things 
center,  as  it  were,  about  the  male,  and  that  the  female,  though 
necessary  in  carrying  out  the  scheme,  is  only  the  means  of  continuing 
the  life  of  the  globe,  but  is  otherwise  an  unimportant  accessory,  and 
incidental  factor  in  the  general  result.  This  is  the  general  statement 
of  the  androcentric  theory  as  a  tenet  of  biological  philosophy,  but  as 
a  tenet  of  sociology  or  anthropology,  it  becomes  the  view  that  man 
is  primary  and  woman  secondary,  that  all  things  center,  as  it  were, 
about  man,  and  that  woman,  though  necessary  to  the  work  of  repro- 
duction, is  only  a  means  of  continuing  the  human  race,  but  is  other- 
wise an  unimportant  accessory,  and  incidental  factor  in  the  general 
result. 

The  facts  in  support  of  the  androcentric  theory,  in  both  its  general 
and  its  special  form,  are  numerous  and  weighty.  From  the  former 
point  of  view  we  have  the  general  fact  that  in  all  the  principal 
animals  with  which  everybody  is  more  or  less  familiar,  including  the 
classes  of  mammals  and  birds  at  least,  the  males  are  usually  larger, 
stronger,  more  varied  in  structure  and  organs,  and  more  highly  orna- 
mented and  adorned  than  the  females.  One  has  only  to  run  over  in  his 
mind  the  different  domestic  animals  and  fowls,  and  the  better  known 
wild  animals,  such  as  the  lion,  the  stag,  and  the  buffalo,  and  most 
of  the  common  song  birds  of  the  wood  and  meadow,  to  be  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  this  proposition.  Among  birds  the  females  are  not 
only  smaller  and  of  plain  colors,  but  the  male  alone  possesses  the 
power  of  song.  >  He  is  often  brilliantly  colored  and  far  more  active 
and  agile  than  his  mate.  Among  animals  the  male,  besides  his 
greater  size  and  strength,  is  often  endowed  with  such  purely  esthetic 
accessories  as  antlers  and  gracefully  curving  horns,  and  such  weapons 
as  tusks.  Some  male  birds,  too,  are  provided  with  spurs  not  pos- 
sessed by  the  females.  A  comparison  of  female  animals  and  birds 
with  the  young  of  the  same  species  shows,  as  compared  to  the  males, 
a  marked  resemblance,  which  fact  has  given  rise  to  the  favorite 
|  theory  of  many  zoologists  that  the  female  sex  represents  a  process 
of  "  arrested  development "  as  contrasted  with  the  alleged  normal, 
and  certainly  far  greater  development  of  the  males.  Such  are  the 


CH.  xiv]  THE   ANDROCENTRIC   THEORY  293 

main  facts  which  zoology  furnishes  in  support  of  the  androcentric 
theory. 

When  we  narrow  the  comparison  down  to  the  human  races  we 
find  the  same  general  class  of  facts  somewhat  emphasized.  The 
women  of  all  races  are  smaller  than  the  men.  They  are  less  strong 
in  proportion  to  their  size,  certainly  if  size  is  measured  by  weight. 
In  the  lower  races  at  least  the  esthetic  difference  holds,  and  the 
male  is  more  perfectly  proportioned,  and  if  positive  beauty  can  be 
predicated  of  either  sex  it  belongs  to  the  man  more  than  to  the 
woman.  In  the  advanced  races  female  beauty  is  much  vaunted,  but 
women  themselves  regard  men  as  more  beautiful,  and  in  the  matter 
of  beard,  at  least,  they  have  what  corresponds  to  the  male  decorations 
of  animals.  The  difference  in  the  brain  of  man  and  woman  is  quite 
as  great  as  that  of  the  rest  of  the  body.  Many  measurements  have 
been  made  of  male  and  female  brains  both  of  civilized  and  uncivilized 
races,  and  always  with  the  same  general  result  at  least  that  the 
female  brain  is  considerably  less  than  the  male  both  in  weight  and 
cubic  capacity.  The  average  civilized  male  brain  is  said  to  weigh 
602  grammes  while  the  average  female  weighs  only  516  grammes,  a 
differense  of  over  fourteen  per  cent  of  the  former.  But  there  are 
also  qualitative  differences  showing  female  inferiority.  Some  of 
these  are  enumerated  by  Topinard  as  follows :  — 

The  outlines  of  the  adult  female  cranium  are  intermediate  between  those 
of  the  child  and  the  adult  man;  they  are  softer,  more  graceful  and  delicate, 
and  the  apophyses  and  ridges  for  the  attachment  of  muscles  are  less  pro- 
nounced, .  .  .  the  forehead  is  ...  more  perpendicular,  to  such  a  degree 
that  in  a  group  of  skulls  those  of  the  two  sexes  have  been  mistaken  for 
different  types ;  the  superciliary  ridges  and  the  gabella  are  far  less  developed, 
often  not  at  all ;  the  crown  is  higher  and  more  horizontal ;  the  brain  weight 
and  the  cranial  capacity  are  less ;  the  mastoid  apophyses,  the  inion,  the 
styloid  apophyses,  and  the  condyles  of  the  occipital  are  of  less  volume,  the 
zygomatic  and  alveolar  arches  are  more  regular,  the  orbits  higher,  etc. 1 

Other  parts  of  the  body  differ  in  a  similar  manner.  Professor 
W.  K.  Brooks  says :  "  The  female  is  scarcely  in  any  normal  case  a 
mere  miniature  copy  of  the  male.  Her  proportions  differ;  the  head 
and  the  thorax  are  relatively  smaller,  the  pelvis  broader,  the  bones 
slighter,  and  the  muscles  less  powerful.2 "  All  these  facts  are  stated 
over  and  over  again  in  all  the  works  that  treat  of  the  subject, 

1  "  Elements  d'Anthropologie  gen^rale,"  par  Paul  Topinard,  Paris,  1885,  p.  253. 

2  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XIV,  p.  202. 


294  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PAUT  u 

with  slight  variations,  it  is  true,  but  with  substantial  agreement,  and 
they  may  therefore  be  safely  accepted  as  true  to  all  intents  and 
purposes. 

But  this  is  only  the  physical  side  of  the  subject.  Stress  of 
course  is  always  laid  upon  the  differences  in  the  male  and  female 
brain,  and  it  is  but  natural  that  inferior  brain  development  in 
woman  should  be  attended  by  correspondingly  inferior  mental 
powers.  This  is  found  to  be  the  case,  and  attention  is  usually 
drawn  to  this  as  an  immediate  consequence  of  the  other.  In  the 
first  place  it  is  found  that  women  have  very  little  inventive  power. 
As  invention  is  the  great  key  to  civilization,  and  as  the  inventive 
faculty  is  the  primary  advantageous  function  of  the  intellect,  this 
is  a  fundamental  difference  and  has  great  weight.  If  we  take  the 
inventive  faculty  in  a  wider  sense  and  include  scientific  discovery 
we  shall  find  woman  still  more  behind  man.  It  is  for  scientific 
discoveries  rather  than  for  mechanical  inventions  that  the  great 
men  of  history  have  risen  to  fame.  In  the  leading  countries  of 
Europe  there  are  scientific  academies  which  from  time  immemorial 
have  made  it  a  practice  to  elect  to  membership  any  person  who 
has  made  noteworthy  scientific  discoveries.  This  of  course  is  not 
always  done,  and  there  are  often  narrow  prejudices  and  short- 
sighted judgments  that  have  debarred  the  greatest  men  for  a  time 
from  this  honor ;  but,  these  aside,  membership  in  such  bodies  is 
prima  facie  proof  of  special  eminence  in  one  or  another  department 
of  science.  Professor  Alphonse  de  Candolle,  basing  his  arguments 
chiefly  on  this  test,  wrote  his  great  work  on  the  "History  of 
Science  and  Scientific  Men,"  which  has  become  a  recognized 
classic,  taking  rank  alongside  of  the  similar  works  of  Francis 
G-alton,  "  Hereditary  Genius,"  "  English  Men  of  Science,"  to  which 
it  is  in  large  part  an  answer.  In  this  work  de  Candolle  devotes  two 
pages-  to  "  Women  and  Scientific  Progress,"  most  of  which  is  so 
appropriate  to  the  present  discussion  that  I  cannot  do  better  than 
to  quote  it.  He  says  :  — 

We  do  not  see  the  name  of  any  woman  in  the  table  of  scientific  asso- 
ciates of  the  principal  academies.  This  is  not  wholly  due  to  rules  that  fail 
to  provide  for  their  admission,  for  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  no  person  of  the 
feminine  sex  has  done  an  original  scientific  work  that  has  made  its  mark 
in  any  science  and  commanded  the  attention  of  scientific  men.  I  do  not 
think  that  it  has  ever  been  proposed  to  elect  a  woman  a  member  of  any 
of  the  great  scientific  academies  with  restricted  membership.  Madame  de 


CH.  xiv]  THE   ANDROCENTRIC   THEORY  295 

Stael  and  George  Sand  might  have  become  members  of  the  French  Academy, 
and  Rosa  Bonheur  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  but  women  who  have 
translated  scientific  works,  those  who  have  taught  or  compiled  elementary 
works,  and  even  those  who  have  published  some  good  memoir  on  a  special 
subject,  are  not  elevated  so  high,  although  they  have  not  lacked  sympathy 
and  support.  The  persons  of  whom  I  have  spoken  are  however  exceptions. 
Very  few  women  interest  themselves  in  scientific  questions,  at  least  in  a 
sustained  manner  and  for  the  sake  of  the  questions  and  not  of  persons 
who  are  studying  them  or  in  order  to  support  some  favorite  religious 
theory. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  find  the  causes  of  this  difference  between  the  two 
sexes.  The  development  of  woman  stops  sooner  than  that  of  man,  and 
every  one  knows  that  studies  at  the  age  of  from  16  to  18  years  count  for 
much  in  the  production  of  a  scientist  of  distinction.  Besides,  the  female 
mind  is  superficial  (primesautier).  It  takes  pleasure  in  ideas  that  can  be 
readily  seized  by  a  sort  of  intuition.  The  slow  methods  of  observation  and 
calculation  by  which  truths  are  surely  arrived  at,  cannot  be  pleasing  to  it. 
Truths  themselves,  independent  of  their  nature  and  possible  consequences, 
are  of  little  moment  for  most  women — especially  general  truths  which  do 
not  affect  any  one  in  particular.  Add  to  this,  small  independence  of  opinion, 
a  reasoning  faculty  less  strong  than  in  man,  and  finally  the  horror  of  doubt, 
i.e.,  of  the  state  of  mind  through  which  all  research  in  the  sciences  of 
observation  must  begin  and  often  end. l 

Not  only  is  the  inventive  genius  of  woman  low  as  compared  to 
that  of  man,  but  so  is  also  her  creative  genius.2  The  following  by  a 
writer  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  is  fairly  representative  of  what 
may  be  found  repeated  a  hundred  times  in  the  general  literature  of 
the  nineteenth  century  :  — 

It  is  notorious  that  creative  genius  is  essentially  of  the  masculine  gender. 
Women  are  the  imaginative  sex,  but  the  work  which  nature  seems  to  have 
distinctly  allotted  to  them  has  been  done  by»men.  This  strange  phenome- 
non is  not  due  to  the  fact  that  women  have  written  comparatively  little, 
because,  if  it  were,  the  little  imaginative  work  they  have  done  would  have 
been  great  in  quality,  and  would  surpass  in  quantity  the  other  work  they 
have  done.  But  it  has  not  been  great  in  quality  compared  with  that  of  men, 
and,  compared  with  the  rest  of  their  own  work,  has  been  infinitesimally 
small.  No  woman  ever  wrote  a  great  drama ;  not  one  of  the  world's  great 
poems  came  from  a  woman's  hand. 8 

1  "  Histoire  des  Sciences  et  des  Savants  depuis  deux  siecles,"  etc.,  par  Alphonse 
de  Candolle.    Deuxieme  Edition  considerablement  augmentee.      Geneve-Bale,  1885, 
pp.  270-271.     (This  section  occurs  only  in  the  second  edition  of  the  work.) 

2  There  is  only  one  art  in  which  women  equal  and  perhaps  excel  men,  and  that  is 
the  art  of  acting.    Cf.  Havelock  Ellis,  "  Man  and  Woman,"  p.  324. 

8  "The  Physiology  of  Authorship,"  by  R.  E.  Francillon,  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
N.  S.,  Vol.  XIV,  March,  1875,  pp.  334-335. 


296  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

If  we  wished  to  pursue  this  line  further  we  should  find  it  often 
asserted  that  in  all  the  fine  arts  woman  is  far  behind  man.  There 
are  very  few  great  women  architects,  sculptors,  painters,  or  musical 
composers. 

Still  less  can  be  said  for  the  female  side  of  speculative  genius,  the 
faculty  by  which  the  mind  deals  with  abstract  truth  and  rises  by  a 
series  of  ever  widening  generalizations  from  multiplicity  to  unity. 
Women  care  very  little  for  truth  for  its  own  sake,  take  very  little 
interest  in  the  abstract,  and  even  concrete  facts  fail  to  win  their 
attention  unless  connected  more  or  less  directly  with  persons  and 
with  some  personal  advantage,  not  necessarily  to  self,  but  to  self  or 
others.  In  short,  they  lack  the  power  to  see  things  objectively,  and 
require  that  they  be  presented  subjectively.  Innate  interests  are 
ever  present  to  their  minds,  and  anything  that  does  not  appeal  in 
any  way  to  their  interests  is  beyond  their  grasp. 

A  glance  at  the  history  and  condition  of  the  world  in  general  is 
sufficient  to  show  how  small  has  been  and  is  the  role  of  woman  in 
the  most  important  affairs  of  life.  None  of  the  great  business  inter- 
ests of  mankind  are  or  ever  have  been  headed  by  women.  In  politi- 
cal affairs  she  has  been  practically  a  cipher,  except  where  hereditary 
descent  has  chanced  to  place  a  crown  upon  her  head.  In  such  cases, 
however,  no  one  can  say  that  it  has  not  usually  rested  easily.  But 
from  a  certain  point  of  view  it  almost  seems  as  if  everything  was 
done  by  men,  and  woman  was  only  a  means  of  continuing  the  race. 

THE  GYN.ECOCENTRIC  THEORY 

The  gynsecocentric  theory  is  the  view  that  the  female  sex  is  pri- 
mary and  the  male  secondary  in  the  organic  scheme,  that  originally 
and  normally  all  things  center,  as  it  were,  about  the  female,  and  that 
the  male,  though  not  necessary  in  carrying  out  the  scheme,  was 
developed  under  the  operation  of  the  principle  of  advantage  to 
secure  organic  progress  through  the  crossing  of  strains.  The  theory 
further  claims  that  the  apparent  male  superiority  in  the  human  race 
and  in  certain  of  the  higher  animals  and  birds  is  the  result  of  spe- 
cialization in  extra-normal  directions  due  to  adventitious  causes 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  general  scheme,  but  which  can  be 
explained  on  biological  and  psychological  principles ;  that  it  only 
applies  to  certain  characters,  and  to  a  relatively  small  number  of 
genera  and  families.  It  accounts  for  the  prevalence  of  the  androcen- 


CH.  xiv]  THE   GYN^ECOCENTRIC   THEORY  297 

trie  theory  by  the  superficial  character  of  human  knowledge  of  such 
subjects,  chiefly  influenced  by  the  illusion  of  the  near,  but  largely, 
in  the  case  of  man  at  least,  by  tradition,  convention,  and  prejudice. 

History  of  the  Theory.  —  As  this  theory  is  not  only  new  but  novel, 
and  perhaps  somewhat  startling,  it  seems  proper  to  give  a  brief 
account  of  its  inception  and  history,  if  it  can  be  said  to  have  such. 
As  the  theory,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  heard,  is  wholly  my  own,  no 
one  else  having  proposed  or  even  defended  it,  scarcely  any  one  accept- 
ing it,  and  no  one  certainly  coveting  it,  it  would  be  folly  for  me  to 
pretend  indifference  to  it.  At  the  same  time  it  must  rest  on  facts 
that  cannot  be  disputed,  and  the  question  of  its  acceptance  or  rejec- 
tion must  become  one  of  interpreting  the  facts. 

In  the  year  1888  there  existed  in  Washington  what  was  called  the 
Six  O'Clock  Club,  which  consisted  of  a  dinner  at  a  hotel  followed  by 
speeches  by  the  members  of  the  Club  according  to  a  programme.  The 
Fourteenth  Dinner  of  the  Club  took  place  on  April  26,  1888,  at  Wil- 
lard's  Hotel.  It  was  known  to  the  managers  that  certain  distinguished 
women  would  be  in  Washington  on  that  day,  and  they  were  invited 
to  the  Club.  Among  these  were  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton,  Miss 
Phebe  Couzins,  Mrs.  Croly  (Jennie  June),  Mrs.  N.  P.  Willis,  and  a 
number  of  others  equally  well  known.  On  their  account  the  subject 
of  Sex  Equality  was  selected  for  discussion,  and  I  was  appointed  to 
open  the  debate.  Although  in  a  humorous  vein,  I  set  forth  the  greater 
part  of  the  principles  and  many  of  the  facts  of  what  I  now  call  the 
gynsecocentric  theory.  Professor  C.  V.  Biley  was  present  and,  I 
think,  took  part  in  the  discussion.  Many  of  my  facts  were  drawn 
from  insect  life,  and  especially  interested  him.  I  mention  this 
because  a  long  time  afterward  he  brought  me  a  newspaper  clipping 
from  the  Household  Companion  for  June,  1888,  containing  a  brief 
report  of  my  remarks  copied  from  the  St.  Louis  Globe,  but  crediting 
them  to  him ;  and  he  apologized  for  its  appearance  saying  that  he 
could  not  explain  the  mistake^  The  reporter  had  fairly  seized  the 
salient  points  of  the  theory  and  presented  them  in  a  manner  to 
which  I  could  not  object.  This,  therefore,  was  the  first  time  the 
theory  can  be  said  to  have  been  stated  in  print.  The  exact  date  at 
which  it  appeared  in  the  Globe  I  have  not  yet  learned,  but  presume 
it  was  shortly  after  the  meeting  of  the  Club.  Professor  Blley  did 
not  hesitate  to  announce  himself  a  convert  to  the  theory,  and  we 
often  discussed  it  together. 


298  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

I  had  long  been  reflecting  along  this  line,  and  these  events  only 
heightened  my  interest  in  the  subject.  The  editor  of  the  Forum  had 
solicited  an  article  from  me,  and  I  decided  to  devote  it  to  a  popular 
but  serious  presentation  of  the  idea.  The  result  was  my  article 
entitled,  "  Our  Better  Halves." 1  That  article,  therefore,  constitutes 
the  first  authorized  statement  of  the  gynsecocentric  theory  that  was 
published,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  almost  the  only  one.  Mr. 
Grant  Allen  answered  my  argument  on  certain  points  in  the  same 
magazine,2  and  I  was  asked  to  put  in  a  rejoinder,  which  I  did,3  but 
these  discussions  related  chiefly  to  certain  differences  between  the 
mind  of  man  and  woman  and  did  not  deal  with  the  question  of  ori- 
gin. I  alluded  to  it  in  my  first  presidential  address  before  the 
Biological  Society  of  Washington,4  and  it  came  up  several  times 
in  writing  the  «  Psychic  Factors  "  (Chapters  XIV,  XXVI). 

Such  is  the  exceedingly  brief  history  of  the  gynaecocentric  theory, 
and  if  it  is  entirely  personal  to  myself,  this  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Nothing  pleases  me  more  than  to  see  in  the  writings  of  others  any 
intimation,  however  vague  and  obscure,  that  the  principle  has  been 
perceived,  and  I  have  faithfully  searched  for  such  indications  and 
noted  all  I  have  seen.  The  idea  has  not  wholly  escaped  the  human 
mind,  but  it  is  never  presented  in  any  systematic  way.  It  is  only 
occasionally  shadowed  forth  in  connection  with  certain  specific  facts 
that  call  forth  some  passing  reflection  looking  in  this  general  direc- 
tion. In  introducing  a  few  of  these  adumbrations  I  omit  the  facts, 
which  will  be  considered  under  the  several  heads  into  which  the 
subject  will  naturally  fall,  and  confine  myself  for  the  most  part  to 
the  reflections  to  which  they  have  given  rise.  Many  of  these  latter, 
however,  are  of  a  very  general  character,  and  not  based  on  specific 
facts.  In  fact  thus  far  the  theory  has  had  rather  the  form  of  a 
prophetic  idea  than  of  a  scientific  hypothesis.  We  may  begin  as  far 
back  as  Condorcet,  who  brushed  aside  the  conventional  error  that 
intellect  and  the  power  of  abstract  reasoning  are  the  only  marks 
of  superiority  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  that  lies  below 
them  when  he  said :  — 

1  The  Forum,  New  York,  Vol.  VI,  November,  1888,  pp.  266-275. 

2  "Woman's  Place  in  Nature,"  by  Grant  Allen,  the  Forum,  Vol.  VII,  May,  1889, 
pp.  258-263. 

8  "  Genius  and  Woman's  Intuition,"  the  Forum,  Vol.  IX,  June,  1890,  pp.  401-408. 
4  "The  Course  of  Biologic  Evolution,"  Proc.  Biol.  Soc.,  Washington,  Vol.  V,  pp. 
23-55.    See  pp.  49-52. 


CH.  xiv]  HISTORY   OF   THE   THEORY  299 

If  we  try  to  compare  the  moral  energy  of  women  with  that  of  men,  tak- 
ing into  consideration  the  necessary  effect  of  the  inequality  with  which  the 
two  sexes  have  been  treated  by  laws,  institutions,  ciistoms,  and  prejudices, 
and  fix  our  attention  on  the  numerous  examples  that  they  have  furnished  of 
contempt  for  death  and  suffering,  of  constancy  in  their  resolutions  and  their 
convictions,  of  courage  and  intrepidity,  and  of  greatness  of  mind,  we  shall 
see  that  we  are  far  from  having  the  proof  of  their  alleged  inferiority.  Only 
through  new  observations  can  a  true  light  be  shed  upon  the  question  of  the 
natural  inequality  of  the  two  sexes.1 

Comte,  as  all  know,  changed  his  attitude  toward  women  after  his 
experiences  with  Clotilde  de  Vaux,  but  even  in  his  "Positive  Philos- 
ophy," in  which  he  declared  them  to  be  in  a  state  of  "  perpetual  in- 
fancy," and  of  "  fundamental  inferiority,"  he  admitted  that  they  had 
a  "  secondary  superiority  considered  from  the  social  point  of  view." 2 
In  his  "  Positive  Polity  "  he  expressed  himself  much  more  strongly, 
saying  that  the  female  sex  "  is  certainly  superior  to  ours  in  the  most 
fundamental  attribute  of  the  human  species,  the  tendency  to  make 
sociability  prevail  over  personality." 3  He  also  says  that  "  feminine 
supremacy  becomes  evident  when  we  consider  the  spontaneous  dis- 
position of  the  affectionate  sex  (sexe  aimanf)  always  to  further 
morality,  the  sole  end  of  all  our  conceptions."  * 

Of  all  modern  writers  the  one  most  free  from  the  androcentric 
bias,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  is  Mr.  Havelock  Ellis.  In  his  excellent 
book  "Man  and  Woman,"  he  has  pointed  out  many  of  the  fallacies 
of  that  Weltanschauung,  and  without  apparent  leaning  toward  any- 
thing but  the  truth  has  placed  woman  in  a  far  more  favorable  light 
than  it  is  customary  to  view  her.  While  usually  confining  himself 
to  the  facts,  he  occasionally  indicates  that  their  deeper  meaning  has 
not  escaped  him.  Thus  he  says :  "  The  female  is  the  mother  of  the 
new  generation,  and  has  a  closer  and  more  permanent  connection 
with  the  care  of  the  young ;  she  is  thus  of  greater  importance  than 
the  male  from  Nature's  point  of  view  "  (pp.  383-384).  To  him  is  also 
due  the  complete  refutation  of  the  "  arrested  development "  theory, 
above  mentioned,  by  showing  that  the  child,  and  the  young  gener- 
ally, represent  the  most  advanced  type  of  development,  while  the 
adult  male  represents  a  reversion  to  an  inferior  early  type,  and  this 
in  man  is  a  more  bestial  type. 

1  "Tableau  Hisjtorique des  Progres  de  PEsprit  Humain,"  Paris,  1900,  pp. 444-445. 
«  "  Philosophic  Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  Paris,  1839,  pp.  405,  406. 
8  "Systeme  de  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  1, 1851,  p.  210. 
4  Op.  cit,,  Vol.  IV,  1854,  p.  63. 


300  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

In  the  sayings  quoted  thus  far  we  have  little  more  than  opinions, 
or  general  philosophical  tenets,  of  which  it  would  be  much  easier 
to  find  passages  with  the  opposite  import.  In  fact  statements  of 
the  androcentric  theory  are  to  be  met  with  everywhere.  Not  only  do 
philosophers  and  popular  writers  never  tire  of  repeating  its  main 
propositions,  but  anthropologists  and  biologists  will  go  out  of  their 
way  to  defend  it  while  at  the  same  time  heaping  up  facts  that  really 
contradict  it  and  strongly  support  the  gynaecocentric  theory.  This 
is  due  entirely  to  the  power  of  a  predominant  world  view  (  Weltan- 
schauung'). The  androcentric  theory  is  such  a  world  view  that  is 
deeply  stamped  upon  the  popular  mind,  and  the  history  of  human 
thought  has  demonstrated  many  times  that  scarcely  any  number  of 
facts  opposed  to  such  a  world  view  can  shake  it.  It  amounts  to  a 
social  structure  and  has  the  attribute  of  stability  in  common  with 
other  social  structures.  Only  occasionally  will  a  thinking  investi- 
gator pause  to  consider  the  true  import  of  the  facts  he  is  himself 
bringing  to  light. 

Bachofen,  McLennan,  Morgan,  and  the  other  ethnologists  who 
have  contributed  to  our  knowledge  of  the  remarkable  institution  or 
historic  phase  called  the  matriarchate,  all  stop  short  of  stating  the 
full  significance  of  these  phenomena,  and  the  facts  of  amazonism 
that  are  so  often  referred  to  as  so  many  singular  anomalies  and 
reversals  of  the  natural  order  of  things,  are  never  looked  at  philo- 
sophically as  residual  facts  that  must  be  explained  even  if  they 
overthrow  many  current  beliefs.  Occasionally  some  one  will  take 
such  facts  seriously  and  dare  to  intimate  a  doubt  as  to  the  prevailing 
theory.  Thus  I  find  in  Ratzenhofer's  work  the  following  remark:  — 

It  is  probable  that  in  the  horde  there  existed  a  certain  individual  equal- 
ity between  man  and  woman ;  the  results  of  our  investigation  leave  it 
doubtful  whether  the  man  always  had  a  superior  position.  There  is -much 
to  indicate  that  the  woman  was  the  uniting  element  in  the  community ; 
the  mode  of  development  of  reproduction  in  the  animal  world  and  the  lat- 
est investigations  into  the  natural  differences  between  man  and  woman 
give  rise  to  the  assumption  that  the  woman  of  to-day  is  the  atavistic  prod- 
uct of  the  race,  while  the  man  varies  more  frequently  and  more  widely. 
This  view  agrees  perfectly  with  the  nature  of  the  social  process,  for  in  the 
horde,  as  the  social  form  out  of  which  the  human  race  has  developed,  there 
existed  an  individual  equality  which  has  only  been  removed  by  social  dis- 
turbances which  chiefly  concern  the  man.  All  the  secondary  sexual  differ- 
ences in  men  are  undoubtedly  explained  by  the  struggle  for  existence  and 
the  position  of  man  in  the  community  as  conditioned  thereby.  Even  the 


<JH.  xiv]  HISTORY  OF   THE   THEORY  301 

security  of  the  horde  from  predatory  animals,  and  still  more  the  necessity 
of  fighting  with  other  men  for  the  preservation  of  the  group,  developed 
individual  superiority  in  general,  both  mental  and  physical,  and  especially 
in  man.  But  any  individual  superiority  disturbed  the  equality  existing  in 
the  elements  of  the  horde ;  woman  from  her  sexual  nature  took  only  a  passive 
part  in  these  disturbances.  The  sexual  life  as  well  as  the  mode  of  subsist- 
ence no  longer  has  its  former  peaceful  character.  Disturbances  due  to  the 
demands  of  superior  individuals  thrive  up  to  a  certain  point,  beyond  which 
the  differentiation  of  the  group  into  several  takes  place.1 

Among  biologists  the  philosophical  significance  of  residual  facts 
opposed  to  current  beliefs  is  still  less  frequently  reflected  upon.  I 
have  stated  that  Professor  Kiley  fully  accepted  the  view  that  I  set 
forth  and  admitted  that  the  facts  of  entomology  sustained  it,  yet, 
although  somewhat  of  a  philosopher  himself,  and  living  in  the  midst 
of  the  facts,  the  idea  had  not  previously  occurred  to  him.  Among 
botanists,  Professor  Meehan  was  the  only  one  in  whose  writings  I  have 
found  an  adumbration  of  the  gynsecocentric  theory.  He  several  times 
called  attention  to  a  certain  form  of  female  superiority  in  plants. 
In  describing  certain  peculiarities  in  the  Early  Meadow  Rue  and 
comparing  the  development  of  the  male  and  female  flowers  he 
observed  differences  due  to  sex.  After  describing  the  female  flowers 
he  says :  — 

By  turning  to  the  male  flowers  (Fig.  2)  we  see  a  much  greater  number 
of  bracts  or  small  leaves  scattered  through  the  panicle,  and  find  the  pedicels 
longer  than  in  the  female;  and  this  shows  a  much  slighter  effort  —  a  less 
expenditure  of  force — to  be  required  in  forming  male  than  female  flowers. 
A  male  flower,  as  we  see  clearly  here,  is  an  intermediate  stage  between  a  per- 
fect leaf  and  a  perfect,  or  we  may  say,  a  female  flower.  It  seems  as  if  there 
might  be  as  much  truth  as  poetry  in  the  expression  of  Burns,  — 

Her  'prentice  ban'  she  tried  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O, 

at  least  in  so  far  as  the  flowers  are  concerned,  and  in  the  sense  of  a  higher 
effort  of  vital  power.2 

It  is  singular,  but  suggestive  that  he  should  have  quoted  the  lines 
from  Burns  in  this  connection,  as  they  are  an  undoubted  echo  of  the 
androcentric  world  view,  a  mere  variation  upon  the  Biblical  myth  of 
the  rib.  Of  course  he  could  find  nothing  on  his  side  in  the  classic 
literature  of  the  world,  but  wishing  to  embellish  the  idea  in  a  popular 

1  "Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  von  Gustav  Ratzenhofer,  Leipzig,  1898,  p.  127. 
2 "The  Native  Flowers  and  Ferns  of  the  United  States,"  by  Thomas  Meehan, 
Vol.  I,  Boston,  1878,  p.  47. 


302  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

work,  he  tried  to  make  these  somewhat  ambiguous  lines  do  duty  in 
this  capacity.  The  fact  cited  is  only  one  of  thousands  that  stand 
out  clearly  before  the  botanist,  but  not  according  with  the  accepted 
view  of  the  relations  of  the  sexes  they  are  brushed  aside  as  worthless 
anomalies  and  "exceptions  that  prove  the  rule."  In  fact  in  all 
branches  of  biology  the  progress  of  truth  has  been  greatly  impeded 
by  this  spirit.  All  modern  anatomists  know  how  the  facts  that  are 
now  regarded  as  demonstrating  the  horizontal  position  of  the 
ancestors  of  man,  and  in  general  those  that  establish  the  doctrine  of 
evolution,  were  treated  by  the  older  students  of  the  human  body  — 
rejected,  ignored,  and  disliked,  as  intruders  that  interfered  with 
their  investigations.  It  is  exactly  so  now  with  gynsecocentric  facts, 
and  we  are  probably  in  about  the  same  position  and  stage  with  refer- 
ence to  the  questions  of  sex  as  were  the  men  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury with  reference  to  the  question  of  evolution.  Indeed,  the 
androcentric  theory  may  be  profitably  compared  with  the  geocentric 
theory,  and  the  gynaecocentric  with  the  heliocentric.  The  advance- 
ment of  truth  has  always  been  in  the  direction  of  supplanting  the 
superficial  and  apparent  by  the  fundamental  and  real,  and  the  gynse- 
cocentric  truth  may  be  classed  among  the  "  paradoxes  of  nature." l 

Tfie  Biological  Imperative.  —  It  is  a  common  belief  among  the 
theologically  minded  that  nature  is  presided  over  by  intelligence  and 
guided  toward  some  predestined  goal.  Science  finds  it  very  difficult 
to  dislodge  this  belief  on  account  of  the  number  of  cases  in  which 
really  moral  ends  are  worked  out  by  agents  unconscious  of 
such  ends  or  even  opposed  to  them.  In  Chapter  XI  we  saw 
that  most  of  the  progress  thus  far  attained  by  man  has  been  the 
result  of  the  several  dynamic  principles  there  considered  acting 
quite  independently  of  the  human  will  and  unknown  to  man,  in  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  which  he  would  have  preferred.  In  the 
tenth  chapter  it  was  shown  that  the  agents  in  social  synergy  are 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  social  ends  they  are  working  for.  Gum- 
plowicz  says  of  them :  "  These  founders  of  states,  like  all  men,  never 
act  except  in  their  immediate  interest,  but  social  development,  above 
and  beyond  the  egoistic  efforts  of  men,  arrives  at  its  end  as  prescribed 
by  nature." 2  And  Spencer  somewhat  extends  this  idea  when  he 

1  "Dynamic  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  47-53. 

2"  Precis  de  Sociologie,"  par  Louis  Gumplowicz.  Traduction  par  Charles  Baye, 
Paris,  1896,  p.  196. 


CH.  xiv]  THE   BIOLOGICAL   IMPERATIVE  303 

says  :  "  While  the  injustice  of  conquests  and  enslavings  is  not  per- 
ceived, they  are  on  the  whole  beneficial ;  but  as  soon  as  they  are  felt 
to  be  at  variance  with  the  moral  law,  the  continuance  of  them  retards 
adaptation  in  one  direction  more  than  it  advances  in  another." *  All 
of  which  is  in  line  with  what  was  set  forth  in  the  last  chapter  in 
relation  to  the  institution  of  slavery.  Even  the  general  statement  of 
Professor  Gerland  that  "  man  has  developed  from  his  natural  animal 
state  in  a  purely  natural  and  mechanical  way,"  2  is  true,  the  social 
forces  acting  blindly  and  unconsciously  to  that  end.  It  is  not  a 
malignant  force :  — 

Ein  Theil  von  jener  Kraft 
Die  stets  das  Bose  will,  und  stets  das  Gute  schafft,8 

but  a  wholly  indifferent  amoral  or  anethical  force,  a  force  devoid  of 
all  moral  quality.  The  victims  who  are  sacrificed  to  it  have  no  con- 
ception of  the  role  they  are  playing  in  the  grand  scheme.  The 
teleological  or  theological  view  point  assumes  that  there  is  an  Intelli- 
gence that  comprehends  it  all,  plans  it  all,  executes  it  all,  but  which 
is  raised  so  far  above  the  capacities  of  even  the  wisest  of  men  that 
they  can  form  no  conception  of  the  scheme.  Professor  James  has 
given  the  best  illustration  of  this  that  has  thus  far  been  supplied 
in  comparing  man  to  a  dog  on  the  vivisection  table :  — 

He  lies  strapped  on  a  board  and  shrieking  at  his  executioners,  and  to 
his  own  dark  consciousness  is  literally  in  a  sort  of  hell.  He  cannot  see  a 
single  redeeming  ray  in  the  whole  business;  and  yet  all  these  diabolical- 
seeming  events  are  usually  controlled  by  human  intentions  with  which,  if  his 
poor  benighted  mind  could  only  be  made  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them,  all  that 
is  heroic  in  him  would  religiously  acquiesce.  Healing  truth,  relief  to  future 
sufferings  of  beast  and  man  are  to  be  bought  by  them.  It  is  genuinely  a 
process  of  redemption.  Lying  on  his  back  on  the  board  there  he  is  perform- 
ing a  function  incalculably  higher  than  any  prosperous  canine  life  admits  of ; 
and  yet,  of  the  whole  performance,  this  function  is  the  one  portion  that 
must  remain  absolutely  beyond  his  ken.4 

The  main  difference  is  that  the  dog  is  incapable  of  faith,  while  man, 
however  inscrutable  may  be  the  ends  that  he  is  serving,  is  disposed 
to  believe  that  they  are  good.  And  right  here  is  a  curious  paradox, 
namely,  that  the  most  religious,  i.e.,  those  who  are  the  most  certain  that 

1  "Social  Statics,"  abridged  and  revised,  etc.,  New  York,  1892,  pp.  240-241. 

2  "  Anthropologische  Beitrage,"  von  Georg  Gerland,  Halle  a.S,  1875,  Vol.  I,  p.  21. 
8  Goethe:    "Faust;"    der    Tragodie    erster    Theil,    Scene   III,    Studierzimmer 

(Mephistopheles) . 

4  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VI,  October,  1895,  pp.  20-21. 


304  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

they  are  "  pushed  by  unseen  hands,"  or  as  Adam  Smith  expressed 
it  "  led  by  an  invisible  hand,"  believe  most  implicitly  in  their  own 
individual  freedom,  and  hold  the  doctrine  of  free  will  to  be  essential 
to  the  religious  spirit.  For  whether  we  take  the  theological  or  the 
scientific  view,  this  sense  of  a  power  beyond  our  control  or  compre- 
hension is  one  of  the  surest  indications  that  we  do  not  control  our 
own  acts,  and  that  do  what  we  may  by  whatever  motive,  we  are 
contributing  to  the  accomplishment  of  results  of  which  we  do  not 
dream. 

But  clear  as  all  this  may  be  in  the  domain  of  social  action,  it  is 
in  biology  that  the  natura  naturans  works  out  its  most  mysterious 
results.  All  life  is  a  great  illusion,  and  things  are  never  what  they 
seem.  In  biology  there  seems  to  be  a  purpose,  but  this  is  also  an 
illusion.  Yet  everything  in  nature  has  a  meaning,  and  biology 
teaches  the  profounder  meaning  of  things.  All  of  our  impulses  and 
instincts  possess  a  deep  significance.  And  there  is  no  depart- 
ment of  biology  in  which  these  occult  principles  are  more  active  and 
potent  than  in  all  that  relates  to  reproduction  and  to  sex.  The 
mystery  of  reproduction  is  also  deepened  by  social  taboo  of  the 
subject,  and  its  treatment  is  delicate  and  difficult.  It  is  habitually 
avoided  except  by  special  investigators,  and  the  general  public  is 
almost  completely  cut  off  from  all  sources  of  information.  But  as 
Bacon  said :  "  Whatever  is  worth  being  is  worth  knowing," 1  and 
there  can  be  no  more  vital  or  fundamental  field  of  truth  than  that  of 
reproduction  upon  which  depends  the  existence  not  merely  of  the 
individual  but  of  the  species,  race,  or  ethnic  group  of  men. 

Reprodiiction.  —  In  Chapter  XI  it  was  shown  that  reproduction  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  sexuality,  and  in  the  last  chapter  its  prac- 
tical identity  with  nutrition  was  set  forth.  Both  of  these  truths  are 
wholly  contrary  to  current  beliefs,  and  both  will  be  further  elucidated 
in  the  -attempt  to  explain  in  what  reproduction  really  consists. 
Lamarck  came  very  close  to  perceiving  the  latter  of  these  truths. 
He  said :  — 

When  by  the  aid  of  circumstances  and  the  proper  means  nature  has 
succeeded  in  setting  up  movements  in  a  body  which  constitute  life,  the  suc- 
cession of  these  movements  develops  organization  and  gives  rise  to  nutrition, 
the  first  of  the  faculties  of  life,  and  from  this  there  arises  the  second  of  the 

i ' '  Novum  Organum,"  Lib.  I,  Aph.  cxx,  (' '  Works,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1869,  p.  326) . 
"  Quicquid  essentia  dignum  est,  id  etiam  scientia  dignum,  quse  est  essentiae  imago." 


CH.  xiv]  REPRODUCTION  305 

vital  faculties,  viz.,  the  growth  of  the  body.  The  superabundance  of  nutri- 
tion in  giving  rise  to  the  growth  of  this  body  prepares  the  materials  for  a 
new  being  which  organization  places  in  position  to  resemble  this  same  body, 
and  thereby  furnishes  it  with  the  means  of  reproducing  itself,  whence  arise 
the  third  of  the  faculties  of  life.1 

Schopenhauer  struck  the  truth  more  squarely  when  he  said  that 
nutrition  differs  only  in  degree  from  reproduction,2  but  this  may  pass 
for  a  prophetic  idea.  It  remained  for  Haeckel  in  1866 3  to  give  a 
clear  scientific  expression  to  it  in  the  form  that  "  reproduction  is  a 
nutrition  and  a  growth  of  the  organism  beyond  its  individual  mass, 
which  erects  a  part  of  it  into  a  whole."  We  may  therefore  start  from 
this  conception  in  the  further  study  of  reproduction.  Bearing  con- 
stantly in  mind  that  reproduction  and  sexuality  are  two  distinct 
things  we  find  the  word  "  asexual "  superfluous  and  even  misleading, 
as  tending  to  confound  these  two  things.  The  problem  was  how  to 
secure  this  continuous  nutrition  and  keep  the  organism  growing 
beyond  the  point  where  the  original  plastic  structure  tended  to  break 
down.  This  was  not  always  effected  in  the  same  way,  and  there 
arose  a  number  of  different  modes  of  reproduction.  A  careful  study 
of  these  has  shown  that  in  a  general  way,  with  some  apparent, 
and  probably  some  real  exceptions,  the  different  modes  of  reproduc- 
tion constitute  a  sort  of  ascending  series  from  the  point  of  view  of 
complexity  and  adaptation  to  increasing  development  of  structure  — 
a  series  of  steps  from  the  more  simple  to  the  more  complex. 
Biologists  have  worked  out  these  steps  from  the  actual  study  of 
living  organisms,  and  a  few  authors  have  attempted  to  set  forth  their 
logical  succession. 

The  simplest  form  of  reproduction  is  undoubtedly  that  by  division 
jor  fission,  in  which  the  overgrown  Amoeba,  moner,  or  protist,  consist- 
ing of  an  apparently  almost  homogeneous  mass  of  living  protoplasm, 
falls  apart  and  resolves  itself  into  two  nearly  equal  portions,  each  of 
which  continues  to  grow  as  before  and  again  divides,  and  so  on  indefi- 
nitely. The  growth  of  any  of  the  higher  organisms  is  a  process 
very  similar  to  this,  only  here  each  cell  must  be  regarded  as  an 
individual.  The  cells  increase  in  size  and  then  divide,  each  half  in 

1 "  Philosophic  Zoologique,"  1809.    Edition  of  1873,  Vol.  II,  pp.  63-64. 
2  "  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  3d  edition,  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  I,  p.  326. 
8  "  Generelle  Morphologic  der  Organismen,"    von  Ernst  Haeckel,  Berlin,  1866, 
Vol.  II,  p.  16. 
x 


806  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

turn  increasing  and  again  dividing,  and  so  on  indefinitely,  thus  con- 
stituting the  growth  of  the  whole  organism. 

/  The  second  step  in  the  development  of  the  reproductive  process  is 
called  gemmation,  i.e.,  budding.  The  unicellular  organism,  instead 
of  dividing  into  two  practically  equal  parts,  divides,  as  we  may  say, 
into  two  very  unequal  parts.  A  small  portion  of  its  substance  first 
protrudes  a  little  and  is  then  separated  from  the  mother-cell  by  a  con- 
striction that  grows  deeper  and  deeper  until  the  bud  becomes  wholly 
detached.  This  small  bud  then  grows  until  it  attains  the  size 
of  the  parent  cell,  and  at  the  proper  time  it  in  turn  develops  a 
bud  that  has  the  same  simple  life  history.  This  mode  of  reproduc- 
tion is  not  confined  to  unicellular  organisms  but  takes  place  in  certain 
bryozoans,  worms,  and  ascidians.  In  plants,  as  everybody  knows,  it 
is  the  principal  form,  the  true  bud  being  its  type,  but  through  it  also 
are  produced  rootstocks,  runners,  stolons,  etc. 

The  third  step  has  been  called  germinal  budding,  or  polysporogonia. 
Within  an  individual  composed  of  many  cells  a  small  group  of  cells 
separates  from  the  surrounding  ones  and  gradually  develops  into  an 
independent  individual  similar  to  the  parent,  and  sooner  or  later 
finds  its  way  out  of  the  mother.  This  process  of  reproduction  is 
met  with  in  some  zoophytes  and  worms,  and  especially  in  the  Trema- 
todes.  These  young  cell  groups  of  course  soon  attain  maturity 
and  go  through  the  same  process  as  the  parent  group. 

The  fourth  step  is  strictly  intermediate  between  this  last  and  the 
simplest  forms  of  bisexuality.  It  is  called  germ  cell  formation  or 
spore  formation  (monosporogonia,  or  simply  sporogonia).  In  this  a 
single  cell  instead  of  a  group  of  cells  becomes  detached  from  the 

;  interior  of  the  organism,  but  does  not  further  develop  until  it  has 
escaped  from  the  latter.  It  then  increases  by  division  and  forms  a 
multicellular  organism  like  its  parent.  This  form  of  reproduction 
is  common  among  certain  low  types  of  vegetation. 

We  have  to  consider  still  a  fifth  form  of  asexual  reproduction, 
which,  however,  is  not  usually  classed  as  another  step  in  the  series, 
but  rather  as  a  backward  step  from  a  more  advanced  form.  This  is 
parthenogenesis  or  virgin  reproduction.  Here  germ  cells  similar  to 

/  all  appearances  to  eggs,  are  capable  of  developing  into  new  beings 
without  the  aid  of  any  fertilizing  agent.  The  same  cells  may  also 
be  fertilized,  and  upon  the  fact  of  fertilization  or  non-fertilization 
usually  depends  the  sex  of  the  resulting  creature.  Among  bees,  as 


CH.  xiv]  FERTILIZATION  307 

is  well  known,  the  unfertilized  eggs  produce  only  males,  while  the 
fertilized  eggs  produce  females.  This  therefore  would  not  consti- 
tute reproduction  in  the  full  sense,  since  without  fertilization  the 
race  would  be  quickly  cut  off.  But  in  certain  plant  lice  the  reverse 
of  this  has  been  observed,  the  unfertilized  eggs  producing  females, 
capable  at  maturity  of  repeating  the  process.  Here  then  is  a  form 
of  parthenogenesis  which  constitutes  complete  reproduction,  although 
it  is  not  usually  depended  upon,  and  might  perhaps  fail  from  gradual 
decline  in  life  energy. 

It  is  not  probable  that  the  above  are  all  the  steps  that  have  actually 
been  taken  by  nature  in  the  development  of  the  principle  of  life  renewal 
to  this  point.  There  have  probably  been  intermediate  steps  between 
these,  perhaps  many  such,butthe  forms  in  which  they  occur  either  have 
not  persisted  or  have  not  yet  been  studied.  Those  that  are  known, 
however,  are  sufficient  to  show  that  the  reproductive  process  has  been  a 
serial  development  from  simpler  to  more  complicated  modes.  In  fact, 
as  we  ought  to  expect,  and  as  Lamarck  said,1  reproduction  at  these  early 
stages  is  nothing  but  the  continuation  of  the  process  by  which  life 
was  originally  created,  and  which  could  not  have  been  realized  as 
a  permanent  fact  without  it.  The  origination  of  life  (archigonia, 
generatio  spontanea),  the  preservation  of  life  (nutrition,  growth),  and 
the  continuation  of  life  (tocogonia,  generatio  parentalis,  reproduction), 
are  all  one  fact,  and  the  observed  differences  are  only  matters  of 
detail  —  the  different  modes  corresponding  to  different  conditions. 

Fertilization.  —  Reproduction  has  for  its  sole  object  to  perpetuate 
life.  To  enable  the  individual  to  attain  its  maximum  size,  to  live 
out  its  normal  period  of  existence,  to  carry  itself  on  into  new  beings 
that  will  do  the  same,  and  to  produce  as  large  a  number  as  possible 
of  such  beings  —  these  are  the  primary  ends  of  nature  in  the  or- 
ganic world.  The  .several  forms  of  reproduction  above  described  go 


1 "  Philosophic  Zoologique,"  Paris,  1873,  Vol.  II,  pp.  76-77.  The  following  passage 
is  particularly  suggestive  :  "  Or,  ne  pouvant  donner  a  ses  premieres  productions  la 
faculte  de  se  multiplier  par  aucun  systeme  d'organes  particulier,  elle  [la  nature] 
parvint  k  leur  donner  la  meme  faculte  en  donnant  a  celle  de  s'accroitre,  qui  est  com- 
mune a  tous  les  corps  qui  jouissent  de  la  vie,  la  faculte  d'amener  des  scissions, 
d'abord  du  corps  entier  et  ensuite  de  certaines  portions  en  saillie  de  ce  corps ;  de  la, 
les  gemmes  et  les  differents  corps  reproductifs  qui  ne  sont  que  des  parties  qui 
s'etendent,  se  separent  et  continuent  de  vivre  apres  lenr  separation,  et  qui,  n'ayant 
exige  aucune  fecondation,  ne  constituant  aucun  embryon,  se  developpant  sans  dechire- 
ment  d'aucune  enveloppe,  ressemblent  cependant,  apres  leur  accroissement,  aux 
individus  dont  ils  proviennent  "  (pp.  138-139). 


308  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

no  farther  than  the  accomplishment  of  these  ends.  Any  further 
steps  require  a  new  principle.  But  this  purely  quantitative  develop- 
ment was  not  all  that  the  life  force  accomplished.  There  was  added 
to  it  a  qualitative  development.  Here  as  elsewhere,  however,  qual- 
ity is  readily  reducible  to  quantity.  Quantity  remained  the  end 
and  quality  served  primarily  as  a  means.  We  saw  in  Chapter  VII 
that  the  end  of  nature  seems  to  have  been  the  increase  of  the  quan- 
tity of  matter  transferred  from  the  inorganic  to  the  organic  state. 
Anything  additional  to  this  is  to  be  classed  among  the  incidental, 
extra-normal,  and  " unintended"  results.  That  these  became  at 
times  highly  important  does  not  alter  the  principle.  But  this  much 
at  least  is  true,  that  no  collateral  process  could  be  inaugurated  that 
did  not  conduce  to  the  primary  end.  With  the  life  force  pushing  in 
all  conceivable  directions,  as  from  the  center  toward  every  point  on 
the  surface  of  a  sphere,  every  possible  process  must  have  been  tried. 
If  an  advantageous  one  existed  it  would  prove  successful  through 
the  operation  of  the  principle  of  advantage. 

It  turned  out  that  there  was  one  advantageous  process,  viz.,  the  pro- 
cess or  principle  of  fertilization.  All  fertilization  is  cross  fertiliza- 
tion, and  we  saw  in  Chapter  XI  that  this  was  one  of  the  great  dynamic 
principles  of  nature,  calculated  to  keep  up  a  difference  of  potential 
and  prevent  stagnation.  We  also  saw  that  mere  function  —  nutrition 
(assimilation,  metabolism,  growth),  and  reproduction  (repetition, 
ultra-nutrition,  multiplication)  —  is  essentially  static.  Simple  repro- 
duction by  any  of  the  modes  thus  far  described  is  mere  function. 
It  simply  continues  the  type  unchanged.  To  get  beyond  this  and 
secure  any  advantageous  change  in  the  types  of  structure  a  dynamic 
principle  must  be  introduced.  The  dynamic  principle  which  in 
fact  was  introduced  was  that  of  crossing  the  hereditary  strains  or 
stirps  through  what  I  prefer  to  designate  fertilization.  -The  various 
modes  by  which  this  was  accomplished  is  what  we  are  next  to  con- 
sider. In  any  of  the  advanced  stages  of  this  process  we  have  the 
phenomena  of  sex,  but  the  use  of  this  term  for  the  earlier  stages,  if 
correct  at  all,  is  at  least  misleading.  It  is  so  difficult  to  divest  the 
mind  of  the  idea  which  the  term  sex  gives  rise  to,  based  on  the  uni- 
versal familiarity  with  organisms  that  have  two  distinct  sexes  called 
male  and  female,  coupled  with  the  almost  equally  universal  lack  of 
acquaintance  with  organisms  that  either  have  no  sex  at  all,  such  as 
those  considered  in  the  last  section,  and  which,  nevertheless,  con- 


CH.  xiv]  FERTILIZATION  309 

stitute  numerically  far  more  than  half  of  all  organic  beings,  or  that 
have  this  dual  character  in  an  exceedingly  undeveloped  state,  such  as 
would  not  be  recognized  as  the  same  that  is  properly  known  as  sex. 

Still,  it  may  be  advantageous  to  use  the  term  sex  in  such  a  gen- 
eric  sense,  and  biologists  regularly  do  so,  clearly  perceiving  that 
out  of  these  mere  primordial  sketches  all  the  developed  forms  of 
sexuality  have  proceeded  by  a  natural    series  of   ascending   steps, 
much  as  in  the  case  of  asexual  reproduction  which  we  have  already 
considered.     Taking  this  view  we  may  say  that  sex  constitutes  a  • 
dynamic  principle  in  biology,  that  it  arose  in  this  gradual  way  from 
the  advantage  it  afforded  in  securing  the  commingling  of  the  ances- 
tral elements  of  heredity,  and  that  its  value  as  a  device  for  main-i 
tainiug   a  difference   of   potential   is   measured  by  the   degree   off 
completeness   that   it   attains.     This   is  the   true   meaning  of  sex, 
which  is  not  at  all  that  of  securing  or  perfecting  reproduction,  but 
the  secondary  effect  of  securing  variation  and  through  variation  the  j 
production  of  better  and  Tiigher  types  of  organic  structure  —  in  a  • 
word,  organic  evolution. 

The  vitalizing  or  rejuvenating  effect  of  crossing  has  always  been 
recognized,  but  it  is  usually  stated  simply  as  a  fact,  and  just  how  it 
becomes  true  is  not  only  not  stated,  but  it  has  sometimes  been  put 
down  as  among  the  mysteries,  or  at  least  problems  of  biology.  Thus 
Dr.  Gray  says:  "  How  and  why  the  union  of  two  organisms,  or  gen- 
erally of  two  very  minute  portions  of  them,  should  reenforce  vitality, 
we  do  not  know,  and  can  hardly  conjecture.  But  this  must  be  the 
meaning  of  sexual  reproduction." 1  Professor  W.  K.  Brooks  has  said 
that  "  the  essential  function  of  the  male  element  is  not  the  vitaliza- 
tion  of  the  germ  .  .  .  the  male  element  is  the  vehicle  by  which  new 
variations  are  added." 2  It  would  be  easy  to  quote  a  score  of  competent 
modern  biologists  to  the  same  effect,  but  the  best  summing  up  of  the 
subject  is  perhaps  that  of  Professor  Richard  Hertwig  in  an  address 
delivered  Nov  7,  1899,  before  the  Gesellschaft  fur  Morphologie  und 
Physiologic  in  Milnchen,  and  published  in  its  proceedings.3  Pro- 

1  "  Darwiniana :  Essays  and  Reviews  pertaining  to  Darwinism,"  by  Asa  Gray,  New 
York,  1877,  pp.  346-347. 

2  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XV,  May,  1879,  pp.  149,  150.     Cf.  Science,  Vol. 
IV,  Dec.  12,  1884,  p.  532. 

8  "  Mit  welchem  Recht  unterscheidet  man  geschlechtliche  und  ungeschlechtliche 
Fortpflanzung ?  "  Sitzb.  d.  Ges.  filr  Morphologic  und  Physiologic  in  Miinchen,  Vol. 
XV,  1899,  Heft  III,  Munchen,  1900,  pp.  142-153. 


310  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

fessor  Winterton  C.  Curtis  has  done  English,  readers  a  good  service 
in  summarizing  this  address  and  presenting  the  results  in  compact 
form,  and  I  give  a  few  extracts  from  his  summary :  — 

Fertilization  and  reproduction  are  phenomena  which  may  be  found  to- 
gether, but  which  in  their  essence  have  no  connection  with  one  another.  .  .  . 

If  we  now  attempt  an  accurate  statement  of  the  kinds  of  reproduction  in 
the  plant  and  animal  kingdoms,  the  old  conception  of  sexual  and  asexual 
reproduction  must  be  given  up  entirely  and  replaced  by  the  following 
statement :  — 

All  organisms  effect  their  reproduction  in  a  common  way  by  means  of 
single  cells  which  have  arisen  by  cell-division.  In  single-celled  organisms 
every  cell-division  is  an  act  of  reproduction  and  results  in  the  formation  of 
another  physiologically  self-sustaining  individual.  In  multicellular  animals," 
most  of  the  cell-divisions  lead  to  the  growth  of  the  multicellular  individual, 
and  only  certain  of  them  serve  for  reproduction.  Fertilization  goes  on  side 
by  side  with  reproduction,  because  the  organism  cannot  attain  its  highest 
development  without  the  union  of  two  individualities  by  nuclear  copula- 
tion. Fertilization  in  its  essence  has  nothing  to  do  with  reproduction.1 

Conjugation.  —  To  the  general  fact  of  the  union  of  two  elements  in 
reproduction  Haeckel  has  given  the  name  amphigonia,  and  this  is 
quite  near  to  AVeismann's  amphimixis.  But  it  begins  with  conjuga- 
tion or  zygosis.  It  might  almost  be  said  to  consist  in  this,  since  the 
chief  difference  in  this  respect  between  the  Protozoa  and  the  Meta- 
zoa  is  that  in  the  latter  the  conjugating  cells  are  taken  from  the 
bodies  of  many-celled  organisms,  while  in  the  former  they  constitute 
two  single-celled  organisms.  To  avoid  the  use  of  the  term  "  sex  "  as 
inapplicable  to  the  lowest  organisms,  we  may  call  all  forms  of  repro- 
duction which  takes  place  through  the  union  of  two  elements  com- 
pound reproduction  in  contradistinction  to  the  various  forms  of 
simple  reproduction  that  have  been  described.  We  may  then  say 
that  in  all  compound  reproduction  conjugation  takes  place.  In  the 
I  Protozoa  the  whole  organism  is  involved,  while  in  the  Metazoa  only 
the  cells  specialized  and  separated  off  for  reproductive  purposes  are 
involved.  But  in  both  there  are  always  two  cells  that  unite  and 
coalesce  to  form  the  new  being.  "When  conjugation  was  first  ob- 
served, and  for  a  long  time  afterward,  it  was  supposed  that  the  two 
conjugating  cells  simply  coalesced  and  that  their  entire  contents 
were  converted  into  a  new  cell  at  first  to  all  appearances  homo- 
geneous, but  later  differentiating  and  forming  the  rudiments  of  an 

i  Science,  N.  S.,  Vol.  XII,  Dec.  21,  1900,  pp.943,  945. 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGATION  311 

embryo.  In  this  there  was  seen  an  analogy  to  nutrition,  and  the 
cells  were  sometimes  spoken  of  as  mutually  devouring  each  other. 
The  process  is  now  known  to  be  much  more  complicated  than  this, 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  extra-nuclear  parts  of  the  cells  are 
appropriated  as  nourishment.  But  it  is  the  nuclei  that  contain  the 
hereditary  elements,  and  the  fusion  of  these  is  a  somewhat  pro- 
longed process  called  karyokinesis,  which  has  now  been  exhaust- 
ively studied  by  a  large  corps  of  investigators.  Weismann  has 
summed  up  the  results l  in  somewhat  convenient  form  in  his  bio- 
logical essays,  where  references  will  be  found  to  the  original 
sources. 

It  would  be  out  of  place  here  to  go  over  this  ground,  and  that 
was  not  the  purpose  of  this  section,  but  it  is  well  to  emphasize  the 
fact  that  while  conjugation  is  the  universal  mode  of  procuring  the 
union  of  different  hereditary  elements  in  the  production  of  variation 
and  consequent  progressive  development  of  living  forms,  it  does  not 
primarily  or  necessarily  imply  any  such  difference  in  the  uniting 
cells  as  is  implied  by  the  term  sex.  The  biologists  sometimes 
express  this  by  saying  that  the  sexes  were  originally  alike,  or  that 
primarily  the  sexes  were  not  differentiated.  The  cases  are  abun- 
dant in  which  no  difference  is  perceptible  between  the  cells  that 
conjugate.  They  are  different  only  in  the  sense  that  they  are  dual. 
There  must  be  differences  in  all  cells,  but  these  differences  are 
beyond  human  power  to  distinguish  with  the  best  appliances. 
They  exist  in  those  primordial  hereditary  elements  that  have  been 
called  by  so  many  different  names  —  gemmules,  biophores,  stirps, 
micellae,  physiological  units,  etc.  —  by  different  investigators ;  ele- 
ments so  minute  as  to  be  practically  molecular. 

It  is  true  that  these  conjugating  cells,  whether  constituting  the 
whole  of  the  organism  or  only  germ  and  sperm  cells  of  many-celled 
organisms,  are,  as  usually  seen,  more  or  less  differentiated  and 
unlike,  one  being  commonly  larger  and  motionless,  and  the  other 
smaller  and  active,  and  this  differentiation  may  properly  be  called 
sexual..  The  spontaneous  union  of  two  cells  must  be  something 
more  than  accidental  to  become  at  all  general.  There  must  be  some 
reason  inherent  in  the  cells  themselves  for  the  act  of  uniting.  In 
other  words,  there  must  exist  an  innate  interest  in  so  doing,  and 

1  "Essays  upon  Heredity  and  Kindred  Biological  Problems,"  by  August  Weismann, 
Vol.  II,  Oxford,  1892.  See  especially  the  twelfth  essay. 


312  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

this  property  was  developed  according  to  the  principles  set  forth  in 
Chapter  V.  The  law  of  parsimony  would  naturally  restrict  this 
interest  chiefly  to  one  of  the  cells  and  leave  the  other  passive.  The 
same  causes  created  the  other  differences,  including  those  of  size. 
The  result  is  that  what  is  called  the  male  cell  or  sperm  cell  is 
usually  a  relatively  minute  cell  possessing  a  form  approaching  that 
of  a  body  of  least  resistance,  is  provided  with  locomotive  appen- 
dages, and  endowed  with  an  appetitive  faculty  by  which  it  actively 
seeks  the  female  cell  and  buries  itself  in  its  substance.  Conjuga- 
tion thus  becomes  true  sexual  union.  Needless  to  say  that  between 
the  simple  mutual  coalescence  and  absorption  of  two  equal  cells  and 
the  fully  developed  union  of  sperm  cell  and  germ  cell  there  are 
in  nature  all  intermediate  conditions. 

But  if  these  cells  are  called  sexual,  and  the  latest  stages  of 
conjugation  are  regarded  as  sexual  unions,  there  may  be  said  to 
exist  two  kinds  of  sexuality,  a  sexuality  of  cells  and  a  sexuality 
of  organisms.  This,  it  is  true,  is  very  nearly  the  same  as  the 
difference  in  the  sexuality  of  protozoic  and  metazoic  life,  since 
the  sperm  cells  and  germ  cells  may  be  regarded  as  independent 
unicellular  organisms ;  still  the  term  sex  is  generally  applied  to 
organisms  as  a  whole  possessing  sex,  and  when  used  of  the  Metazoa 
and  Metaphyta  it  is  the  whole  organism  that  is  meant  and  not 
the  reproductive  cells.  We  may  therefore  now  leave  the  subject  of 
cellular  differentiation,  which  goes  no  farther  than  this,  and  confine 
our  attention  to  the  other  aspect  of  the  sex  question. 

It  may  be  well,  however,  to  note  that  fertilization,  whether  as  the 
conjugation  of  similar  cells  or  as  the  union  of  sperm  and  germ  cells, 
was  only  gradually  resorted  to.  Asexual  generation  not  only  per- 
mits no  change  or  development  but  it  also  seems  ultimately  to 
exhaust  itself.  It  is  therefore  found  as  the  sole  and  permanent 
condition  in  only  a  few  organisms.  Much  more  frequently  is  there 
I  found  that  modification  of  it  which  is  called  alternation  of  genera- 
tions, in  which  after  a  long  series  of  asexual  reproductions  the 
creature  becomes  encysted  and  goes  through  a  resting  process 
followed  by  conjugation  or  some  other  form  of  fertilization,  the 
resultant  progeny  again  reproducing  asexually,  and  so  on.  Taking 
into  account  the  entire  history  of  sexual  development,  although 
it  varies  so  widely  in  different  forms,  we  may  say  in  general  that 
these  alternations  gradually  grow  more  and  more  frequent  until  the 


CH.  xiv]  ORIGIN   OF   THE   MALE   SEX  313 

period  of  asexual  reproduction  is  ultimately  eliminated  entirely. 
But  even  then  it  must  be  conceived  as  possible.  From  this  to  the 
stage  in  which  fertilization  becomes  essential  to  reproduction  is 
a  long  step  and  this  stage  is  only  brought  about  through  adaptation. 
Fertilization,  as  we  have  seen,  has  nothing  to  do  with  reproduction, 
and  that  it  should  ever  become  a  necessary  condition  to  it  can  only 
be  accounted  for  by  the  great  advantage  that  it  has  for  the  species, 
first  bringing  it  about  that  every  act  of  reproduction  is  in  fact 
preceded  by  fertilization,  and  then,  through  this  uniform  coupling  of 
the  two  acts,  at  last  rendering  such  coupling  a  prerequisite  to  repro- 
duction. It  is  this  fact  that  gave  rise  to  the  erroneous  view  that 
fertilization  is  a  necessarj1-  part  of  reproduction.  This  accounts  for 
all  the  forms  of  hermaphroditism  and  parthenogenesis,  presently  to 
be  considered,  which  are  so  many  intermediate  stages  in  the  process. 
They  may  be  regarded  as  temporary  and  transition  forms.  Asexual 
reproduction  and  the  alternation  of  generations  are  also  compara- 
tively transient  stages,  although  the  former  is  the  only  mode  in 
some  animals  and  the  latter  is  universal  in  plants.  But  complete 
stability  is  not  attained  until  the  stage  not  only  of  sexuality  but 
of  unisexuality  is  reached. 

Origin  of  the  Male  Sex.  —  Although  reproduction  and  sex  are  two 
distinct  things,  and  although  a  creature  that  reproduces  without  sex 
cannot  properly  be  called  either  male  or  female,  still,  so  completely 
have  these  conceptions  become  blended  in  the  popular  mind  that 
a  creature  which  actually  brings  forth  offspring  out  of  its  own  body 
is  instinctively  classed  as  female.  The  female  is  the  fertile  sex,  and 
whatever  is  fertile  is  looked  upon  as  female.  Assuredly  it  would  be 
absurd  to  look  upon  an  organism  propagating  asexually  as  male. 
Biologists  have  proceeded  from  this  popular  standpoint,  and 
regularly  speak  of  "  mother-cells  "  and  "  daughter-cells."  It  there- 
fore does  no  violence  to  language  or  to  science  to  say  that  life  begins 
with  the  female  organism  and  is  carried  on  a  long  distance  by 
means  of  females  alone.  In  all  the  different  forms  of  asexual 
reproduction,  from  fission -to  parthenogenesis,  the  female  may  in 
this  sense  be  said  to  exist  alone  and  perform  all  the  functions  of 
life  including  reproduction.  In  a  word,  life  begins  as  female. 

The  further  development  of  life  serves  to  strengthen  this 
gynsecocentric  point  of  view.  It  consists,  as  we  might  say,  exclu- 
sively in  the  history  of  the  subsequent  origin  and  development 


314  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

of  the  male  sex.  The  female  sex,  which  existed  from  the  beginning, 
continues  unchanged,  but  the  male  sex,  which  did  not  exist  at 
the  beginning,  makes  its  appearance  at  a  certain  stage,  and  has 
a  certain  history  and  development,  but  never  became  universal, 
so  but  that,  as  already  remarked,  there  are  probably  many  more  liv- 
ing beings  without  it  than  with  it,  even  in  the  present  life  of  the 
globe.  The  female  is  not  only  the  primary  and  original  sex  but 
continues  throughout  as  the  main  trunk,  while  to  it  a  male  element 
is  afterward  added  for  the  purposes  above  explained.  The  male 
is  therefore,  as  it  were,  a  mere  afterthought  of  nature.  Moreover, 
the  male  sex  was  at  first  and  for  a  long  period,  and  still  throughout 
many  of  the  lower  orders  of  beings,  devoted  exclusively  to  the 
function  for  which  it  was  created,  viz.,  that  of  fertilization.  Among 
millions  of  humble  creatures  the  male  is  simply  and  solely  a  fertilizer. 
The  simplest  type  of  sexuality  consists  in  the  normal  continuance 
of  the  original  female  form  with  the  addition  of  an  insignificant  and 
inconspicuous  male  fertilizer,  incapable  of  any  other  function.  In 
sexual  cells  there  is  no  character  in  which  the  differentiation  goes  so 
far  as  in  that  of  size.  The  female  or  germ  cell  is  always  much 
larger  than  the  male  or  sperm  cell.  In  the  human  species,  for 
example,  an  ovum  is  about  3000  times  as  large  as  a  spermatozoon.  * 
In  the  parasitic  Sphcerularia  Bombi,  the  female  is  a  thousand  or 
many  thousand  times  the  size  of  the  male. 2  The  Cirripedia  present 
remarkable  examples  of  female  superiority,  or  rather  of  the  existence 
of  minute  male  fertilizers  in  connection  with  normal  development 
in  the  female.  Darwin  was  perhaps  the  first  to  call  attention  to 
this  fact  in  a  letter  to  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  dated  Sept.  14,  1849,  in 
which  he  said :  — 

The  other  day  I  got  a  curious  case  of  a  unisexual,  instead  of  hermaph- 
rodite cirripede,  in  which  the  female  had  the  common  cirripedial  character, 
and  in  two  valves  of  her  shell  had  two  little  pockets,  in  each  of  which  she 
kept  a  little  husband ;  I  do  not  know  of  any  other  case  where  a  female 
invariably  has  two  husbands.  I  have  one  still  odder  fact,  common  to  several 
species,  namely,  that  though  they  are  hermaphrodite,  they  have  small 
additional,  or  as  I  shall  call  them,  complemental  males,  one  specimen,  itself 
hermaphrodite,  had  no  less  than  seven  of  these  complemental  males  at- 
tached to  it.  Truly  the  schemes  and  wonders  of  Nature  are  illimitable.8 

1  John  A.  Ryder  in  Science,  N.  S.,  Vol.  I,  May  31, 1895,  p.  603. 

2  Herbert  Spencer,  "  Principles  of  Biology, "  New  York,  1873,  Vol.  II,  p.  417  (§  332) . 
8  "  The   Life  and  Letters  of    Charles  Darwin,"  including  an  autobiographical 

chapter,  edited  by  his  son  Francis  Darwin,  New  York,  1888,  Vol.  I,  p.  345. 


CH.  xiv]  ORIGIN   OF   THE  MALE   SEX  315 

Darwin's  observations  have  been  abundantly  confirmed  by  later 
investigators.  Huxley  asserts  the  parasitic  nature  of  the  male  in 
certain  cases,  the  male  being  attached  to  the  female  and  living  at 
her  expense. 1  Van  Beneden,  to  practically  the  same  effect,  remarks 
that  "the  whole  family  of  the  Abdominalia  [cirripedes]  have  the 
sexes  separate ;  and  the  males,  comparatively  very  small,  are 
attached  to  the  body  of  each  female."  2 

The  phenomenon  of  minute  parasitic  males  is  not  rare  among  the 
lower  forms,  and  that  their  sole  office  is  fertilization  may  be  clearly 
seen  from  the  following  statement  of  Milne  Edwards :  "  It  is  to  be 
noted  that  in  some  of  these  parasites  [Ex.  Diplozoon  paradoxum,  a 
nematode]  the  entire  visceral  cavity  was  occupied  by  the  testicles, 
and  that  Mr.  Darwin  could  not  discover  in  it  any  trace  of  digestive 
organs."  3  Van  Beneden  also  says  that  the  males  are  reduced  to  the 
role  of  spermatophores :  "  The  male  of  the  Syngami  (nematodes) 
is  so  far  effaced  that  it  is  no  longer  anything  but  a  testicle  living  on 
the  female."  *  These  of  course  are  extreme  cases,  and  the  difference 
is  less  in  most  of  the  animal  world,  the  reason  for  which  will  be 
shown  later  on.  But  the  examples  cited  serve  to  show  how  sexuality 
began.  Female  superiority,  however,  of  a  more  or  less  marked| 
degree  still  prevails  throughout  the  greater  part  of  the  invertebrates.  1 
It  is  perhaps  greatest  among  the  Arachnidae  or  spider  family.  The 
courtships  of  spiders  are  so  often  described  in  popular  works  that 
allusion  to  them  almost  calls  for  an  apology.5  They  are  always 
regarded  as  astonishing  anomalies  in  the  animal  world.  While  the 
behavior  of  the  relatively  gigantic  female  in  seizing  and  devouring 
the  tiny  male  fertilizer  when  he  is  only  seeking  to  do  the  only  duty 
that  he  exists  for,  may  seem  remarkable  and  even  contrary  to  the 
interests  of  nature,  the  fact  of  the  enormous  difference  between  the 
female  and  the  male,  is,  according  to  the  gynaecocentric  hypothesis, 
not  anomalous  at  all,  but  perfectly  natural  and  normal.6 

1  i'  A  Manual  of  the  Anatomy  of  Invertebrated  Animals,"  by  Thomas  H.  Huxley, 
New  York,  1878,  pp.  261-262. 

2  "  Animal  Parasites  and  Messmates,"  by  P.  J.  Van  Beneden,  second  edition, 
London,  1876,  pp.  55-56. 

8 "  Lemons  sur  la  Physiologic  et  1'Anatomie  compared  de  1'Homme  et  des 
Animaux,"  par  H.  Milne  Edwards,  Vol.  IX,  Paris,  1870,  p.  267. 

4  Op.  cit.,  p.  93,  of  the  French  edition.  This  statement  does  not  seem  to  occur 
in  the  English  edition. 

8  Cf.  Darwin,  "  Descent  of  Man,"  Vol.  I,  p.  329. 

6  Professors  Geddes  and  Thompson  in  their  useful  work  on  the  Evolution  of  Sex 
have  brought  together  a  large  number  of  examples  in  various  departments  of  the 


316  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  ir 

In  the  mantis  or  praying  insect  there  is  much  less  difference  in 
size  than  in  most  spiders,  but  female  superiority  shows  itself  in  the 
ferocity  of  the  female,  while  the  paramount  importance  of  the  act 
of  fertilization  is  clear  from  the  terrible  risks  that  the  male  takes 
in  securing  it,  usually  resulting  in  his  destruction.  I  give  an 
example  on  the  authority  of  one  of  the  best  known  entomologists :  — 

A  few  days  since  I  brought  a  male  of  Mantis  Carolina  to  a  friend  who 
had  been  keeping  a  solitary  female  as  a  pet.  Placing  them  in  the  same  jar, 
the  male,  in  alarm,  endeavored  to  escape.  In  a  few  minutes  the  female 
succeeded  in  grasping  him.  She  first  bit  off  his  left  front  tarsus,  and  con- 
sumed the  tibia  and  femur.  Next  she  gnawed  out  his  left  eye.  At  this  the 
male  seemed  to  realize  his  proximity  to  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  began 
vain  endeavors  to  mate.  The  female  next  ate  up  his  right  front  leg,  and 
then  entirely  decapitated  him,  devouring  his  head  and  gnawing  into  his 
thorax.  Not  until  she  had  eaten  all  of  his  thorax  except  about  three  milli- 
meters did  she  stop  to  rest.  All  this  while  the  male  had  continued  his  vain  at- 
tempts to  obtain  entrance  at  the  valvules,  and  he  now  succeeded,  as  she  volun- 
tarily spread  the  parts  open,  and  union  took  place.  She  remained  quiet  for 
four  hours,  and  the  remnant  of  the  male  gave  occasional  signs  of  life  by  a  move- 
ment of  one  of  his  remaining  tarsi  for  three  hours.  The  next  morning  she 
had  entirely  rid  herself  of  her  spouse,  and  nothing  but  his  wings  remained. 

The  extraordinary  vitality  of  the  species  which  permits  a  fragment  of 
the  male  to  perform  the  act  of  impregnation  is  necessary  on  account  of  the 
rapacity  of  the  female,  and  it  seems  to  be  only  by  accident  that  a  male  ever 
escapes  alive  from  the  embraces  of  his  partner. 

Riley  in  his  first  monthly  report,  p.  151,  says  :  "  The  female  being  the 
strongest  and  most  voracious,  the  male,  in  making  his  advances,  has  to  risk 
his  life  many  times,  and  only  succeeds  in  grasping  her  by  slyly  and  suddenly 
surprising  her ;  and  even  then  he  frequently  gets  remorselessly  devoured." 1 

In  insects  generally  the  males  are  smaller  than  the  females,  espe- 
cially in  the  imago  state.  It  applies  to  the  larvae  to  a  less  extent, 
but  it  is  often  marked  even  in  the  cocoons,  as,  for  example,  of  the 
silk  worm.2  There  are  many  species,  and  even  genera,  belonging  to 

animal  kingdom,  many  of  which  have  been  recorded  since  Darwin's  time.  See  the 
edition  of  1901,  pp.  17  ff.,  82.  This  work  is  a  valuable  compilation  of  facts  of  all 
kinds  bearing  on  sex  and  was  much  needed.  While  it  is  pervaded  with  the  andro- 
centric spirit,  the  "  thesis  "of  it  that  the  female  is  anabolic  and  the  male  catabolic 
is  a  long  step  in  the  direction  of  the  gynaecocentric  theory,  forced  or  wrested,  as  it 
were,  from  unwilling  minds  by  the  mass  of  evidence.  It  is  correct  as  far  as  it  goe», 
but  it  is  only  one  of  the  many  surface  facts  resulting  from  the  fundamental  principle 
now  under  discussion. 

1  Dr.  L.  O.  Howard  in  a  letter  to  Science,  dated  Sept.  27, 1886.    Science,  Vol.  VIII, 
Oct.  8,  1886,  p.  326. 

2  "  An  Introduction  to  Entomology:   or  Elements  of  the   Natural  History   of 
Insects,"  by  William  Kirby  and  William  Spence,  London,  1826,  Vol.  Ill,  pp.  299  ff. 


en.  xiv]  ORIGIN   OF   THE   MALE   SEX  317 

different  orders,  in  which  the  male,  usually  smaller  and  more  slen- 
der, is  either  not  provided  with  any  functional  organs  for  eating,  or 
has  these  so  imperfectly  developed  that  it  seems  improbable  that  it 
succeeds  in  sustaining  life  beyond  the  period  that  the  nourishment 
stored  up  in  the  larval  state  will  continue  it.  This  clearly  shows  that 
the  sole  function  of  such  males  is  fertilization.  Some  of  these  cases 
come  very  close  home  to  us,  for  example,  the  mosquito.  Dr.  Howard 
says : — 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  adult  male  mosquito  does  not  necessarily 
take  nourishment  and  that  the  adult  female  does  not  necessarily  rely  on 
the  blood  of  warm-blooded  animals.  The  mouth  parts  of  the  male  are 
so  different  from  those  of  the  female  that  it  is  probable  that  if  it  feeds  at 
all  it  obtains  its  food  in  a  quite  different  manner  from  the  female.  They 
are  often  observed  sipping  at  drops  of  water,  and  in  one  instance  a  fondness 
for  molasses  has  been  recorded.1 

Bees  constitute  another  familiar  example,  the  males  being  what 
are  popularly  known  as  the  drones.  Fertilization,  as  is  well  known, 
is  almost  their  only  role,  and  if  they  become  at  all  numerous  they 
are  killed  off  by  the  workers  (neutral  females),  and  the  hive  is  rid 
of  them.  But  great  differences  between  the  sexes,  always  involving 
some  form  of  female  superiority,  occur  also  in  the  Neuroptera,  Lepi- 
doptera,  Orthoptera,  and  Coleoptera.  In  the  other  great  types  of 
invertebrates  this  is  also  true,  but  only  the  specialists  are  acquainted 
with  the  facts.  Even  in  the  lower  vertebrates  there  are  cases  of 
female  superiority.  The  smallest  known  vertebrate,  Heterandria 
formosa  Agassiz,  has  the  females  about  twenty-five  per  cent  larger 
than  the  males.2  Male  fishes  are  commonly  smaller  than  female. 
In  trout  this  is  well  known,  and  trout  fishermen  sometimes  throw 
the  little  males  or  "  studs,"  as  they  call  them,  back  into  the  stream, 
as  not  worth  taking.  Even  in  birds,  which  are  the  mainstay  of  the 
androcentric  theory,  there  are  some  large  families,  as,  for  example, 
the  hawks,  in  which  male  superiority  is  rare,  and  the  female  is 
usually  the  larger  and  finer  bird.  There  are  even  some  mammals 
in  which  the  sexes  do  not  differ  appreciably  in  size  or  strength,  and 
very  little,  or  not  at  all,  in  coloration  and  adornment.  Such  is  the 
case  with  nearly  all  of  the  great  family  of  rodents.  It  is  also  the 

1  "  Notes  on  the  Mosquitoes  of  the  United  States,"  by  L.  O.  Howard.    Bulletin  No. 
25,  New  Series,  U.S.  Department  of  Agriculture,  Division  of  Entomology,  Washing- 
ton, 1900,  p.  12. 

2  Science,  N.  S.,  Vol.  XV,  Jan.  3,  1902,  p.  30. 


318  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

case  with  the  Erinaceidae,  at  least  with  its  typical  subfamily  of 
hedgehogs. 

All  that  was  said  of  the  Protozoa  applies  equally  to  the  Proto- 
phyta,  and  indeed  in  those  unicellular  forms  the  distinction  between 
plant  and  animal  is  very  obscure,  Haeckel  making  a  third  king- 
dom of  nature,  the  Protista,  which  is  neither  plant  nor  animal. 
But  the  evolution  of  the  male  sex  in  multicellular  plants  is  some- 
what different  from  that  of  the  Metazoa.  In  dealing  with  such 
plants  much  depends  on  what  we  regard  as  constituting  an  individ- 
ual. If  we  take  the  growing  branch  or  phyton  as  the  unit  of  indi- 
viduality, it  may  perhaps  be  truly  said  that  sexual  differentiation  is 
universal  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  But  if  we  make  the  individual 
include  all  that  proceeds  from  the  same  root  and  coheres  in  one 
organic  system  —  the  whole  plant  —  then  we  have  the  following 
grades  of  sexuality :  1,  hermaphroditism,  in  which  both  male  and 
female  organs  occur  in  the  same  flower ;  2,  monoecism,  in  which  the 
flowers  are  either  male  or  female,  but  both  sexes  occur  on  the  same 
plant ;  and  3,  dioecism,  in  which  every  plant  is  either  wholly  male 
or  wholly  female.  In  the  flowerless  plants — thallophytes,  bryo- 
phytes,  pteridophytes,  formerly  known  as  cryptogams  —  the  sexual 
cells  are  borne  in  a  variety  of  ways,  usually  separated  some  distance 
from  each  other,  often  on  different  plants,  but  here  there  occurs  in 
most  cases  a  compound  generation,  consisting  of  a  short-lived  pro- 
thallium  stage  —  the  true  sexual  stage  —  succeeded  by  a  spore- 
bearing  stage  constituting  the  principal  life  of  the  plant.  This 
peculiarity  has  no  important  bearing  on  the  theory  under  considera- 
tion, and  being  too  complicated  to  be  explained  without  extensive 
illustration,  it  need  not  be  dwelt  upon  here.  An  acquaintance  with 
it  belongs  to  a  proper  understanding  of  botany  such  as  the  student 
of  sociology  should  have. 

Confining  our  attention,  then,  to  the  flowering  plants,  we  have  to 
note  first  that  the  Cycadaceee  and  Ginkgoacese  form  two  apparently 
different  transitions  from  the  flowerless  to  the  flowering  plants,  in 
that  they  are  both  fertilized  by  means  of  spermatozoids  —  active  cil- 
iated sperm  cells — as  in  the  case  of  flowerless  plants  generally, 
while  all  the  other  families  of  flowering  plants,  so  far  as  now  known, 
have  the  entire  prothallium  stage  effaced,  abridged,  or  theoretically 
condensed  into  the  development  of  the  ovule  and  pollen  grain.  The 
discovery  of  this  important  distinction,  which  has  revolutionized 


CH.  xiv]  ORIGIN  OF   THE  MALE   SEX  319 

the  classification  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  dates  back  only  to  1896, 
and  was  made  primarily  by  two  Japanese  botanists.1 

We  have  next  to  remark  that  hermaphroditism  in  plants  is  not 
the  anomalous  and  almost  pathologic  condition  known  by  that 
name  in  the  animal  world.  It  seems  to  have  been  the  common 
initial  state  in  flowering  plants,  and  deviations  from  it  seem  to  be 
the  result  of  the  universal  struggle  of  nature  to  prevent  self  or  close 
fertilization  and  to  secure  the  widest  possible  separation  of  the 
sexes.  This  is,  however,  nothing  but  the  continuation  of  the  opera- 
tion of  the  same  principle  by  which  sex  itself  was  introduced.  But 
if  the  other  more  scientific  and  correct  view  is  taken  as  to  what 
constitutes  an  individual,  this  is  not  hermaphroditism  at  all.  It  is 
simply  the  bringing  of  the  sexes  together  in  compact  and  somewhat 
symmetrically  ordered  groups,  which,  before  the  advent  of  nectar- 
loving  winged  insects,  was  almost  the  only  way  in  which  fertilization 
could  be  brought  about.  Still,  long  strides  were  taken  in  this  direc- 
tion among  the  Gymnosperms,  in  which  no  showy  flowers  have  ever 
been  developed,  and  cycads  and  conifers  are  either  monoecious  or 
dioecious.  The  maidenhair-tree  which  has  the  longest  known  geo- 
logical history,  is  dioecious,  and  most  of  the  trees  whose  fossil 
remains  show  them  to  have  had  a  long  history  are  diclinous.  Thus 
the  willows  and  poplars  are  dioecious  and  the  oaks  and  plane  trees 
are  monoecious.  All  this  points  to  the  law  that  the  longer  a  type 
has  lived  the  wider  is  the  separation  of  the  sexes,  and  as  the  flowers 
of  plants  are  rarely  preserved  in  the  fossil  state  we  have  no  warrant 
for  assuming  that  the  ancestral  forms  that  we  know  were  the  same 
in  past  ages  as  now  in  respect  of  their  sexual  relations. 

We  have  already  had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  fact  that  showy 
flowers  with  nectar  glands  and  nectar-loving  insects  developed 
pari  passu  in  the  history  of  the  world  (see  supra,  p.  234).  It  is 
now  to  be  noted  that  the  influence  of  cross  fertilization  through 
insect  agency  is  chiefly  upon  plants  with  hermaphrodite  flowers. 
On  the  scientific  theory  of  leaf  metamorphosis  each  stamen  and 
pistil  of  a  flower  is  a  transformed  leaf,  and  therefore  a  flower  is 
only  a  cluster  of  leaves,  some  of  which  have  been  specialized  into 

1  "  On  the  Spermatozoid  of  Ginkgo  biloba,"  by  S.  Hirase,  Bot.  Mag.,  Tokyo,  Vol. 
X,  Oct.  20,  1896,  p.  325  (Japanese).  "The  Spermatozoid  of  Cycas  revoluta,"  by 
S.  Ikeno,  ibid.,  Nov.  20,  1896,  p.  367  (Japanese).  Other  papers  in  German  and 
French  soon  followed  these  preliminary  announcements. 


320  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

stamens,  others  into  pistils,  others  into  petals,  and  others  into  seg- 
ments of  the  calyx.  The  flower  may  therefore  be  looked  upon  as 
a  little  colony.  If  the  ovary  is  compound  it  is  not  the  whole  pistil 
but  each  lobe  or  cell  of  the  ovary  with  its  separate  style  and  stigma 
that  constitutes  the  individual.  In  such  a  colony  the  conditions 
become  too  uniform  for  vigorous  development,  and  there  has  been 
an  obvious  struggle  to  escape  these  narrow  bonds  and  secure  a  wider 
separation  of  the  sexes.  The  mutual  interaction  of  the  law  of 
natural  selection  and  the  fact  of  insect  agency  has  wrought  the 
most  extensive  changes  in  this  direction,  some  of  which  have  been 
pointed  out. 

If  we  regard  stamens  and  pistils  as  individuals,  it  becomes 
obvious  that  in  the  higher  plants  generally,  and  to  a  much  greater 
extent  than  in  animals,  the  male  is  simply  a  fertilizer,  while  the 
female  goes  on  and  develops  and  matures  the  fruit.  Stamens  always 
wither  as  soon  as  the  anthers  have  shed  their  pollen.  They  have  no 
other  function.  If  we  take  the  other  and  more  popular  view  of 
individuality,  and  look  upon  the  whole  plant  as  the  vital  unit,  the 
only  comparisons  between  the  sexes  that  can  be  instituted  are  those 
of  dioecious  plants.  Here  of  course  we  usually  find  the  sexes  prac- 
tically equal.  This  we  should  expect,  since  sexual  differentiation 
has  alone  brought  about  this  state  from  a  former  state  of  hermaph- 
roditism.  If  any  cases  could  be  found  of  either  male  or  female 
superiority  they  could  only  be  accounted  for  either  by  special  over- 
development of  the  superior  or  by  degeneracy  of  the  inferior  sex. 
In  point  of  fact  there  are  such  cases,  but  only  those  of  female 
superiority.  An  examination  of  them  clearly  shows  that  they  are 
due  to  a  loss  on  the  part  of  the  male  of  the  powers  once  possessed. 
Again,  there  are  found  to  be  cases  in  which  this  decline  does  not 
take  place  until  after  the  function  of  fertilization  has  been  per- 
formed. 

The  best  known  example  is  that  of  the  hemp  plant,  Cannabis 
saliva.  It  has  long  been  known  that  when  hemp  is  sown  in  a  field 
the  sexes  cannot  at  first  be  distinguished,  and  this  condition  of 
eqtiality  persists  until  the  plants  of  both  sexes  reach  the  period  of 
fertility.  The  male  plants  then  shed  their  pollen  and  the  female 
plants  are  fertilized  thereby.  Soon  thereafter,  however,  the 
male  plants  cease  to  grow,  begin  to  turn  yellow  and  sere,  and  in 
a  short  time  they  droop,  wither,  die,  and  disappear.  The  fertilized 


CH.  xiv]  ORIGIN   OF   THE   MALE   SEX  321 

female  plants  are  then  found  not  to  have  as  yet  reached  their  maxi- 
mum development.  They  continue  to  grow  taller  and  more  robust, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  fruit  is  forming,  swelling,  and  ripening, 
which  requires  the  remainder  of  the  season.  It  is  only  from  these 
tall,  healthy,  robust  female  stalks  that  the  hemp  fiber  is  obtained. 
It  is  commonly  supposed  that  this  collapse  of  the  male  plant  only 
occurs  in  thickly  sown  fields,  where,  after  it  has  performed  its  func- 
tion it  is  only  a  cumberer  of  the  ground.  Certain  it  is  that  it 
amounts  to  an  effective  weeding  of  the  field.  I  have,  however,  care- 
fully watched  the  sexes  when  growing  as  weeds  in  waste  grounds, 
and  where  there  were  not  enough  plants  to  crowd  one  another  in  the 
least,  and  found  that  the  male  plants  ceased  to  grow  taller  and 
thicker  after  shedding  their  pollen,  as  did  the  female  plants  after 
being  pollenized,  but  here  the  males  did  not  perish  at  once,  but  con- 
tinued to  live  to  near  the  end  of  the  season. 

Before  I  had  made  any  observations  on  the  hemp  plant  or  had 
heard  of  the  peculiarity  above  described  I  had  been  for  a  number  of 
years  taking  notes  on-  a  somewhat  similar  habit  in  certain  native 
plants  of  the  United  States.  In  my  Guide  to  the  Flora  of  Washington 
and  Vicinity,  published  in  1881,  as  Bulletin  No.  22,  U.  S.  National 
Museum,  which  consists  chiefly  of  a  catalogue  of  the  plants  growing 
in  the  region  named,  and  in  which  I  occasionally  made  a  brief  note 
of  some  special  peculiarity  in  a  plant  not  mentioned  in  any  other 
work,  I  find  the  following  note  appended  to  Ambrosia  artemisicefolia 
(p.  90) :  "  Tends  to  become  dioecious,  and  the  fruiting  plants  crowd 
out  the  staminate  ones."  Subsequently  I  found  this  to  be  even  more 
true  of  the  large  species,  A.  trifida,  especially  farther  south  where  it 
often  covers  large  areas  of  abandoned  land.  At  Antennaria  planta- 
ginifolia  (p.  89),  this  remark  occurs :  "  Female  plants  much  larger 
than  the  male,  often  half  a  meter  in  height,  and  both  varying 
widely."  What  I  regarded  as  one  species  has  since  been  found  to 
represent  several,  and  all  of  them  possess  this  peculiarity.  They 
tend  to  grow  in  little  patches  at  a  distance  from  one  another,  and  all 
the  plants  in  the  same  patch  are  of  the  same  sex,  either  all  male  or 
all  female,  and  in  these  patches  the  plants  are  densely  crowded  to- 
gether. The  male  patches  form  a  mat  or  carpet  on  the  ground, 
the  flowering  stems  only  rising  a  few  inches  above  the  radical 
leaves.  The  female  patches  are  less  dense,  and  the  flower-bear- 
ing stems  after  fertilization  grow  a  foot  or  two  high.  Male  infe- 


322  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

riority  was  also  noted  in  Thalictrum  dioicum  and  many  other  dice- 
cious  herbs.  If  carefully  looked  for  it  would  probably  be  found  to 
be  general. 

All  these  facts  from  both  kingdoms,  and  the  number  that  might 
be  added  is  unlimited,  combine  to  show  that  the  female  constitutes 
the  main  trunk,  descending  unchanged  from  the  asexual,  or  presex- 
ual,  condition ;  that  the  male  element  was  added  at  a  certain  stage 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  securing  a  crossing  of  ancestral  strains,  and 
the  consequent  variation  and  higher  development ;  that  it  began  as 
a  simple  fertilizer,  assuming  a  variety  of  forms ;  that  for  reasons 
hereafter  to  be  considered,  the  male  in  most  organisms  gradually 
assumed  more  importance,  and  ultimately  came  to  approach  the  size 
and  general  nature  of  the  female;  but  that  throughout  nearly  or 
quite  the  whole  of  the  invertebrates,  and  to  a  considerable  extent 
among  the  vertebrates,  the  male  has  remained  an  inferior  creature, 
and  has  continued  to  devote  its  existence  chiefly  to  the  one  function 
for  which  it  was  created.  The  change,  or  progress,  as  it  may  be 
called,  has  been  wholly  in  the  male,  the  female  remaining  unchanged. 
This  is  why  it  is  so  often  said  that  the  female  represents  heredity 
and  the  male  variation.  "  The  ovum  is  the  material  medium  through 
which  the  law  of  heredity  manifests  itself,  while  the  male  element 
is  the  vehicle  by  which  new  variations  are  added.  .  .  .  The  greater 
variability  of  the  male  is  also  shown  by  a  comparison  of  the  adult 
male  and  female  with  the  immature  birds  of  both  sexes." 1 

The  last  fact  is  the  one  usually  adduced  in  support  of  the  theory 
that  in  birds  and  mammals  where  the  male  is  superior  the  female 
is  an  example  of  "  arrested  development."  Such  is,  however,  prob- 
ably not  the  case,  and  the  female  simply  represents  the  normal  con- 
dition, while  the  condition  of  the  male  is  abnormal  due  to  his  great 
powers  of  variability.  That  the  female  should  resemble  the  young 
is  quite-  natural,  but  the  statement  is  an  inverted  one,  due  to  the 
androcentric  bias.  The  least  unbiased  consideration  would  make  it 
clear  that  the  colors  of  such  male  birds  as  Professor  Brooks  had  in 
mind  are  not  the  normal  colors  of  the  species,  but  are  due  to  some 
abnormal  or  supra-normal  causes.  The  normal  color  is  that  of  the 
young  and  the  female,  and  the  color  of  the  male  is  the  result  of  his 
excessive  variability.  Females  cannot  thus  vary.  They  represent 
the  center  of  gravity  of  the  biological  system.  They  are  that 

i  W.  K.  Brooks  in  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XV,  June,  1879,  pp.  150,  152. 


CH.  xiv]  SEXUAL   SELECTION  323 

"stubborn  power  of  permanency"  of  which  Goethe  speaks.  The 
female  not  only  typifies  the  race  but,  metaphor  aside,  she  is  the 
race. 

Sexual  Selection.  —  The  fact  that  requires  to  be  explained  is  that, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  male,  primarily  and  normally  an  inconspicuous 
and  insignificant  afterthought  of  nature,  has  in  most  existing 
organisms  attained  a  higher  stage  of  development  and  somewhat 
approached  the  form  and  stature  of  the  primary  trunk  form  which 
is  now  called  the  female.  That  which  might  naturally  surprise  the 
philosophical  observer  is  not  that  the  female  is  usually  superior  to 
the  male,  but  that  the  male  should  have  advanced  at  all  beyond  its 
primitive  estate  as  either  a  fertilizing  organ  attached  to  the  female, 
or  at  most  a  minute  organism  detached  from  her  but  devoted  exclu- 
sively to  the  same  purpose.  In  other  words,  while  female  superiority 
is  a  perfectly  natural  condition,  male  development  requires  explana- 
tion. We  have  explained  the  origin  of  the  male  as  a  provision  of 
nature  for  keeping  up  the  difference  of  potential  among  biotic 
forces.  This  we  found  in  Chapter  XI  to  be  one  of  the  leading 
dynamic  principles.  But  this  principle  does  not  explain  the  first 
step  nor  any  subsequent  step  made  by  the  male  toward  equality  with 
the  female.  For  this  an  entirely  different  principle  must  be  found. 

We  saw  at  the  outset  that  in  order  to  fulfill  his  mission  the  male 
must  be  endowed  with  an  innate  interest  in  performing  his  work. 
This  was  supplied  on  the  principle  laid  down  in  Chapter  V,  viz., 
appetition.  This  attribute  was  absolutely  necessary  to  the  success 
of  the  scheme,  and  throughout  all  nature  we  find  the  male  always 
active  and  eager  seeking  the  female  and  exerting  his  utmost  powers 
to  infuse  into  her  the  new  hereditary  Anlagen  that  often  make  up  the 
greater  part  of  his  material  substance.  This  intense  interest  in  his 
work  is  the  natura  naturans,  the  voice  of  nature  speaking  through 
him  and  commanding  him,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  always  and 
under  all  circumstances,  to  do  his  duty,  and  never  on  any  pretext  to 
allow  an  opportunity  to  escape  to  infuse  into  the  old  hereditary 
trunk  of  his  species  the  new  life  that  is  in  him.  This  duty  he 
always  performed,  not  only  making  extraordinary  efforts  but  incur- 
ring enormous  risks,  often  actually  sacrificing  his  life  and  perishing 
at  his  post. 

The  sociological  application  of  this  is  that  the  sexual  irregularities 
of  human  society  are  chiefly  due  to  this  same  principle.  All 


324  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

attempts  on  the  part  of  society  to  regulate  the  relations  of  the  sexes, 
necessary  though  they  may  be  to  the  maintenance  of  the  social 
order,  interfere  with  the  biologic  principle  of  crossing  strains  and 
securing  the  maximum,  variation,  development,  and  vigor  of  the 
stock.  The  violation  of  "liuman  laws  relating  to  this  class  of  con- 
duct is  usually  in  obedience  to  that  higher  law  of  nature  commanding 
such  conduct.  As  Havelock  Ellis  says :  — 

A  cosmic  conservatism  does  not  necessarily  involve  a  social  conservatism. 
The  wisdom  of  Man,  working  through  a  few  centuries  or  in  one  corner  of 
the  earth,  by  no  means  necessarily  corresponds  to  the  wisdom  of  Nature, 
and  may  be  in  flat  opposition  to  it.  This  is  especially  the  case  when  the 
wisdom  of  Man  merely  means,  as  sometimes  happens,  the  experience  of  our 
ancestors  gained  under  other  conditions,  or  merely  the  opinions  of  one  class 
or  one  sex.  Taking  a  broad  view  of  the  matter,  it  seems  difficult  to  avoid 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  safer  to  trust  to  the  conservatism  of  Nature  than  to 
the  conservatism  of  Man.  We  are  not  at  liberty  to  introduce  any  artificial 
sexual  barrier  into  social  concerns. l 

Such  violations  of  the  social  code  are  called  crimes  and  are  there- 
by made  such,  but  they  are  artificial  crimes.  Those  who  commit 
them  may  even  think  they  are  doing  "  wrong,"  because  they  have 
been  taught  so ;  nevertheless  they  continue  to  commit  them  and  take 
the  risks  of  punishment.  They  obey  the  biological  imperative  in 
the  face  of  all  danger  in  perfect  analogy  with  the  action  of  the 
male  spider  or  mantis. 

This  part  of  the  scheme  was  thus  effectively  carried  out,  and  so 
far  it  was  a  complete  success,  and  ample  variation  and  consequent 
diversity  and  progress  were  secured  in  the  organic  world.  The 
sacrifice  of  males  was  a  matter  of  complete  indifference,  as  much  so 
as  is  the  sacrifice  of  germs,  because  the  supply  was  inexhaustible, 
and  in  fact,  throughout  the  lower  orders  an  excess  of  males  over 
females  is  the  normal  condition,  and  often  the  number  of  males 
greatly  exceeds  that  of  the  females.  That  a  hundred  males  should 
live  and  die  without  once  exercising  their  normal  faculty  is  of  less 
consequence  than  that  one  female  should  go  unfecundated.  Biologic 
economy  consists  in  unlimited  resources  coupled  with  the  multiplica- 
tion of  chances. 2  Success  in  accomplishing  the  main  purpose  is  the 
paramount  consideration.  The  cost  in  effort,  sacrifice,  and  life  is  a 
comparatively  unimportant  element. 

1  "  Man  and  Woman,"  3d  edition,  London,  1902,  p.  397. 

2  "  Psychic  Factors  of  Civilization,"  Boston,  1893,  p.  250. 


CH.  xiv]  SEXUAL   SELECTION  325 

But  it  is  obvious  that  the  interest  of  the  male  is  wholly  unlike 
the  interest  of  the  female.  That  the  female  has  an  interest  there  is 
no  doubt.  She  also  has  to  a  limited  extent  the  appetent  interest  of 
the  male,  but  this  is  not  usually  strong  enough  to  cause  her  even  to 
move  from  her  place,  much  less  to  seek  the  male.  From  this  point 
of  view- she  is  comparatively  indifferent,  and  is,  as  is  so  commonly 
said,  the  passive  sex.  But  the  female  has  another  and  wholly 
different  interest  and  one  which  is  wanting  in  the  male.  Through 
her  nature  secures  another  end  which  is  second  only  to  the  two  great 
ends  thus  far  considered,  viz.,  reproduction  and  fertilization.  The 
male  element  is  in  a  high  degree  centrifugal.  Unlimited  variation 
would  be  dangerous  if  not  destructive.  Mere  difference  is  not 
all  that  is  required  by  evolution.  Quality  is  an  element  as  im- 
portant as  degree.  The  female  is  the  guardian  of  hereditary 
qualities.  Variation  may  be  retrogressive  as  well  as  progressive.  It 
may  be  excessive  and  lead  to  abnormalities.  It  requires  regulation. 
The  female  is  the  balance  wheel  of  the  whole  machinery.  As  the 
primary,  ancestral  trunk  she  stands  unmoved  amid  the  heated  strife 
of  rivals  and  holds  the  scales  that  decide  their  relative  worth  to  the 
race.  While  the  voice  of  nature  speaking  to  the  male  in  the  form 
of  an  intense  appetitive  interest,  says  to  him :  fecundate !  it  gives 
to  the  female  a  different  command,  and  says  :  discriminate !  The 
order  to  the  male  is :  cross  the  strains !  that  to  the  female  is :  choose 
the  best !  Here  the  value  of  a  plurality  of  males  is  apparent.  In 
such  a  plurality  there  are  always  differences.  The  female  recog- 
nizes these  differences,  and  instinctively  selects  the  one  that  has  the 
highest  value  for  the  race.  This  quality  must  of  course  coincide  with 
a  subjective  feeling  of  preference,  a  coincidence  which  is  brought  / 
about  by  the  action  of  the  well-known  laws  of  organic  adaptation. 

This  subjective  feeling  it  is  which  constitutes  the  distinctive  in- 
terest of  the  female.  It  is  clearly  quite  other  than  the  interest  of 
the  male.  It  is  wanting  in  the  plant  and  in  the  lowest  animals,  but 
nevertheless  makes  its  appearance  at  a  very  early  stage  in  the 
history  of  sentient  beings.  In  considering  it  we  have  to  do  with  a 
psychic  attribute  a  grade  higher  than  that  of  pure  appetency.  In 
fact  it  represents  the  dawn  of  the  esthetic  faculty.  We  have 
already  seen  in  Chapter  VII  how  the  advent  of  mind  gave  the  world 
a  new  dispensation  and  seemed  to  reverse  the  whole  policy  of  nature. \ 
We  are  now  about  to  witness  another  profound  transformation  I 


326  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

wrought  by  a  special  psychic  faculty,  viz.,  the  faculty  of  taste. 
This  transformation  is  nothing  less  than  the  work  of  raising  that 
miniature  speck  of  existence,  the  primordial  fertilizing  agent,  to  the 
rank  of  a  fully  developed  animal  organism,  approaching  in  varying 
degrees,  and  actually  reaching  in  a  few  instances,  the  status  of  the 
original  specific  trunk,  then  called  the  female. 

The  foundation  of  the  whole  process  is  the  fundamental  law 
of  heredity,  that  offspring  inherit  the  qualities  of  both  their  parents, 
The  qualities  of  the  mother,  being  those  of  the  species  in  general, 
are  of  course  inherited  and  do  not  concern  the  transformation.  This 
comes  through  the  qualities  of  the  male.  The  incipient  esthetic 
tastes  of  the  female  cause  her  to  select  the  qualities  from  among  her 
suitors  that  she  prefers,  and  to  reject  all  males  that  do  not  come 
up  to  her  standard.  The  qualities  selected  are  transmitted  to  the 
offspring  and  the  new  generation  again  selects  and  again  transmits. 
As  all  females  may  be  supposed  to  have  substantially  the  same 
preferences  the  effect  is  cumulative,  and  however  slowly  the  trans- 
formation may  go  on,  it  is  only  necessary  to  multiply  the  repetitions 
a  sufficient  number  of  times  to  secure  any  required  result.  The 
particular  characters  thus  selected  are  called  secondary  sexual  char- 
acters; they  are  chiefly  seen  in  the  male  because  the  female  already 
has  the  normal  development.  There  can  be  no  doubt  .that  in  cases, 
like  spiders,  where  the  males  are  so  exceedingly  small,  one  of  the 
preferred  qualities  is  a  respectable  stature  and  bulk,  and  that 
throughout  the  lower  orders  the  chief  selecting  has  been  that  of  larger 
and  larger  males,  until  the  observed  present  state  of  partial  sex 
equality  was  attained.  This  is  exactly  the  kind  of  facts  that  would 
be  overlooked  by  the  average  investigator,  attention  being  concen- 
trated on  certain  more  striking  and  apparently  abnormal  facts,  such 
as  brilliant  coloration,  peculiar  markings,  special  ornamental  organs, 
weapons  of  destruction,  etc.  These  latter,  under  the  joint  action  of 
the  principle  of  selection  and  the  law  of  parsimony,  are  often  not 
only  confined  to  the  male,  but  do  not  appear  until  the  age  of 
maturity,  at  which  time  they  can  alone  serve  the  purpose  for  which 
they  were  selected  and  created,  viz.,  to  attract  the  female  and  lead 
to  the  continued  selection  of  those  males  in  which  they  are  best 
developed.  It  is  upon  these  that  biological  writers  chiefly 
dwell.  They  point  to  a  certain  degree  of  development  in  the  tastes 
of  the  females  which  lies  beyond  the  simply  useful. 


en.  xiv]  SEXUAL   SELECTION  327 

To  use  the  language  of  figure  based  on  fact,  it  is  small  wonder 
that  the  female  should  be  ashamed  of  her  puny  and  diminutive 
suitors  and  should  always  choose  the  largest  and  finest  specimen 
among  them.  If  her  selection  were  mainly  confined  to  this  quality 
during  all  the  early  history  of  every  species  the  naturalist  without 
the  gynsecocentric  theory  to  guide  his  observations  would  never 
discover  it.  He  would  simply  notice  that  the  difference  in  the  size 
of  the  sexes  differs  widely  in  different  species  and  families  and  set 
it  down  as  a  somewhat  remarkable  fact  but  without  significance. 
He  would  be  specially  attracted  by  the  superficial  differences, 
particularly  in  the  matter  of  ornamentation  in  the  male.  These  are 
certainly  remarkable,  and  a  vast  array  of  examples  has  been 
marshaled  by  Darwin  and  his  coadjutors  and  successors.  Darwin 
found  comparatively  little  evidence  of  sexual  selection  among  the 
invertebrates.  In  the  Mollusca  hermaphroditism  prevails,  which 
means  that  the  fertilizer  is  simply  an  organ  and  not  an  independent 
organism ;  but  here,  as  in  hermaphrodite  plants,  the  tendency 
toward  sex  separation  is  general.  In  the  Arthropoda,  and  especially 
in  the  Arachnidse,  there  occur  those  enormous  differences  in  the  size 
of  the  sexes  that  we  have  been  considering.  But  this  varies  even 
here  in  nearly  all  degrees,  which  shows  that  selection  in  the  quality 
of  size  has  always  been  going  on,  and  in  some  species  has  resulted 
in  something  like  sex  equality.  Blackwall,  De  Geer,  Vinson, 
Westring,  and  Kirby  and  Spence  had  already  recorded  many  facts, 
and  many  more  have  since  been  added.  In  insects  the  equalizing 
process  had  gone  much  farther,  and  still  Darwin  was  obliged  to 
admit  that  "  with  insects,  of  all  kinds  the  males  are  commonly 
smaller  than  the  females."1  In  most  of  them,  however,  the  other 
more  striking  characters  of  the  males  attract  the  chief  atten- 
tion. Darwin  takes  up  each  class  and  group  of  animals  in  the 
ascending  order  of  development  all  the  way  to  man,  and  makes 
out  an  unanswerable  case  in  favor  of  his  principle  of  sexual 
selection.  Later  writers  have  multiplied  facts  in  its  support  until 
it  is  to-day  as  firmly  established  as  that  of  natural  selection.  Only 
certain  extreme  "  Neo-Darwinians,"  as  they  call  themselves,  who 
defend  the  "  all-sufficiency  of  natural  selection,"  seek  to  belittle  or 
even  deny  this  principle,  but  this  is  done  with  such  an  obvious  parti 
pris  that  its  scientific  value  is  slight.  Even  Professor  Poulton,  who 
i  "  Descent  of  Man,"  Vol.  I.,  New  York,  1871,  p.  335. 


328  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

was  the  principal  translator  of  Weismann's  "Essays,"  and  is  an 
especially  competent  judge,  insists  in  his  lectures,  one  of  which  I 
have  heard,  upon  the  undeniable  truth  of  sexual  selection,  and 
presents  a  large  mass  of  fresh  and  striking  evidence  in  its  support. 

Jealousy,  the  "  green-eyed  monster  which  doth  mock  the  meat  it 
feeds  on,"  here  showed  its  usefulness,  for  it  cooperated  with  the 
esthetic  faculty  of  the  female  and  led  to  all  those  intense  activities 
of  the  rival  males  that  developed  the  characters  that  the  females 
preferred.  Success  in  these  struggles  for  favor,  due  in  turn  to  the 
qualities  that  insured  success,  was  the  sure  passport  to  favor,  and 
female  favor  meant  parenthood  of  the  race.  Size  and  strength, 
even  more  than  the  accompanying  organic  weapons,  were  the 
elements  of  success,  and  in  this  way  the  respectable  stature  and 
compact  build  of  the  males  of  developed  species  gradually  replaced 
the  diminutiveness  and  structural  frailty  of  the  primitive  males. 
All  these  influences  have  been  at  work  in  all  the  types  of  animal 
life  since  the  dawn  of  the  psychic  faculty,  and  the  effects,  as  we 
should  naturally  expect,  have  been  roughly  proportioned  to  the 
length  of  the  phylum.  There  are  of  course  exceptions  to  this  rule, 
due  to  other  collateral  and  partially  neutralizing  influences,  often  of 
a  very  obscure  and  complex  nature,  but  upon  the  whole  this  has 
been  the  result,  and  consequently  we  find  that  it  is  in  the  birds  and 
mammals,  the  two  latest  classes,  and  the  two  that  possess  the 
longest  phylogenetic  ancestry,  that  the  effects  of  sexual  selection 
are  the  most  marked.  Here  the  struggle  for  size,  strength,  courage, 
and  beauty  reaches  its  maximum  intensity,  and  begins  in  a  sort  of 
geometrical  progression  to  augment  and  multiply  all  the  secondary 
sexual  characters  of  the  male  and  to  threaten  the  overthrow,  at  least 
for  a  time,  of  the  long  prevailing  gynaecarchy  of  the  animal  world. 

Male  Efflorescence.  —  We  have  presided  at  the  birth  of  the  male 
being,-  long  subsequent  to  that  of  the  true  organism,  in  "the  form  of 
.a  minute  sperm-plasm  to  supplement  the  much  older  germ-plasm, 
not  as  an  aid  to  reproduction,  but  simply  as  a  medium  of  variation 
and  a  condition  to  higher  development.  We  have  watched  the  prog- 
ress of  this  accessory  element  subjected  to  the  esthetic  choice  of  the 
organism  or  real  animal,  until,  through  the  inheritance  of  the  quali- 
ties thus  chosen  it  slowly  rose  in  form  and  volume  into  somewhat 
the  image  of  its  creator  and  became  a  true  animal  organism  resem- 
bling the  original  organism,  on  account  of  which  naturalists  call  it 


CH.  xiv]  MALE  EFFLORESCENCE  329 

the  male  and  the  other  the  female  of  the  same  species.  Seeing  these 
two  somewhat  similar  forms  habitually  together,  the  one  still  per- 
forming the  office  of  fertilizer  and  the  other  the  work  of  reproduc- 
tion, they  class  them  alike,  and  until  recently  regarded  fertilization 
as  an  essential  part  of  reproduction.  But  the  deeper  meaning  of  it 
all  has  generally  escaped  observation. 

The  esthetic  sense  of  the  females  has  produced  many  beautiful 
objects  in  the  form  of  male  decoration  in  the  invertebrate  and  lower 
vertebrate  classes,  but  with  the  advent  of  bird  life  this  sense  became 
more  acute,  and  having  such  decorative  materials  as  feathers  to  work 
with,  it  soon  surpassed  all  its  previous  uchievements  and  wrought 
gorgeous  products  on  the  most  ornamental  -patterns.  The  following 
is  Wallace's  description  of  the  bird  of  paradise  from  personal  obser- 
vation in  New  Guinea,  and  will  serve  for  a  general  example, 
although  it  is,  of  course,  an  extreme  one :  — 

Most  celebrated  of  all  are  the  birds  of  paradise,  forming  a  distinct 
family,  containing  more  than  twenty-five  different  species,  all  confined  to 
this  island  and  the  immediately  surrounding  lands.  These  singular  birds 
are  really  allied  to  our  crows  and  magpies,  but  are  remarkable  for  their 
special  and  varied  developments  of  plumage.  In  most  cases  tufts  of  feath- 
ers spring  from  the  sides  of  the  body  or  breast,  forming  fans,  or  shields,  or 
trains  of  extreme  beauty.  Others  have  glossy  mantles  or  arched  plumes 
over  the  back,  strange  crests  on  the  head,  or  long  and  wire-like  tail-feathers. 
These  varied  appendages  exhibit  corresponding  varieties  of  color.  The  long 
trains  of  waving  plumes  are  golden  yellow  or  rich  crimson,  the  breast- 
shields,  mantles,  and  crests  are  often  of  the  most  intense  metallic  blue  or 
green,  while  the  general  body  plumage  is  either  a  rich  chocolate  brown  or 
deep  velvety  black.  All  these  birds  are  exceedingly  active  and  vivacious, 
the  males  meeting  together  in  rivalry  to  display  their  gorgeous  plumage, 
while  in  every  case  the  female  birds  are  unornamented,  and  are  usually  plain 
or  positively  dingy  in  their  coloring.1 

From  this  we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  esthetic  tastes  of  female 
birds.  As  was  remarked  of  the  tastes  of  insects  in  virtually  creat-. 
ing  the  world  of  flowers  (see  supra,  p.  234),  so  we  may  now  say  of 
birds,  the  similarity  of  their  tastes  to  those  of  men,  even  of  the  men 
of  the  highest  culture,  is  proved  by  the  universal  admiration  of  man- 
kind for  the  objects  of  their  esthetic  selection  and  creation.  From 
a  certain  point  of  view,  therefore  the  standard  of  taste  is  universal 
among  sentient  and  psychic  beings,  and  the  beautiful  colors,  mark- 

14<New  Guinea  and  its  Inhabitants,"  by  Alfred  Russel  Wallace,  Contemporary 
Review,  Vol.  XXXIV,  February,  1879,  p.  424. 


330  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

ings,  and  forms  of  butterflies,  moths,  and  beetles,  of  ostrich  feathers 
and  peacocks'  tails,  speak  for  an  esthetic  unity  throughout  all  the 
grades  and  orders  of  life.  It  is  the  same  standard  of  taste,  too,  that 
again  comes  out  in  the  highest  class  of  animals,  the  mammals,  and 
that  produces  such  universally  admired  objects  as  the  antlers  of  the 
stag,  which  are  the  type  of  a  true  secondary  sexual  character.  It  is 
through  such  influences  that  the  males  of  so  many  birds  and  mam- 
mals have  attained  their  extraordinary  development  in  the  direction 
of  size,  strength,  activity,  courage,  beauty,  and  brilliancy. 

The  faculty  exercised  by  the  female  in  sexual  selection  may  in  a 
broad  sense  be  called  esthetic,  but  many  other  qualities  than  those 
that  are  popularly  classed  as  beauty  are  preferred  and  created. 
Some  of  these  may  be  called  moral  qualities,  such  as  courage.  This  v-- 
is  a  special  element  of  success,  and  its  development  leads  to  the 
universal  rivalry  in  the  animal  world  for  mates.  It  is  not  that  the 
rivals  decimate  and  destroy  one  another  leaving  only  the  final 
victor.  As  has  been  remarked,1  the  battles  of  the  males,  however 
fierce,  rarely  result  fatally,  and  they  often  take  the  form  of  quasi 
mock  battles  in  which  some  do,  indeed,  "  get  hurt,"  but  it  rarely 
happens  that  any  get  killed.  Still  less  is  it  true  that  the  strongest 
and  ablest  males  use  their  powers  to  coerce  the  female  into  submis- 
sion. The  female,  even  when  greatly  surpassed  in  size  and  strength 
by  the  male,  still  asserts  her  supremacy  and  exercises  her  preroga- 
tive of  discrimination  as  sternly  and  pitilessly  as  when  she  far 
surpassed  the  male  in  these  qualities.  This  is  why  I  reject  the 
usual  expression  "  male  superiority "  for  those  relatively  few  cases 
in  which  the  male  has  acquired  superior  size  and  strength  along 
with  the  various  ornaments  with  which  the  female  has  decked  him 
out.  And  nothing  is  more  false  than  the  oft-repeated  statement 
inspired  by  the  androcentric  world  view,  that  the  so-called  "  supe- 
rior" -males  devote  that  new-gained  strength  to  the  work  of 
protecting  and  feeding  the  female  and  the  young.  Those  birds  and 
mammals  in  which  the  process  of  male  differentiation  has  gone 
farthest,  such  as  peacocks,  pheasants,  turkeys,  and  barnyard  fowls, 
among  birds,  and  lions,  buffaloes,  stags,  and  sheep,  among  mammals, 
do  practically  nothing  for  their  families.  It  is  the  mother  and  she 
alone  that  cares  for  the  young,  feeds  them,  defends  them,  and  if 
necessary  fights  for  them.  It  is  she  that  has  the  real  courage  — 
1  Espinas,  "  Societ^s  Animates,"  2s  ed.,  Paris,  1878,  pp.  324,  327. 


CH.  xiv]  MALE   EFFLORESCENCE  331 

courage  to  attack  the  enemies  of  the  species.  Many  wild  animals 
will  flee  from  man,  the  only  exception  being  the  female  with 
her  young.  She  alone  is  dangerous.  Even  the  male  lion  is  really 
somewhat  of  a  coward,  but  the  hunter  learns  to  beware  of  the 
lioness.  The  doe  goes  off  into  a  lonely  spot  to  bring  forth  and  nurse 
her  fawn.  It  is  the  same  with  the  female  buffalo  and  the  domestic 
cow.  How  much  does  the  bull  or  the  cock  care  for  its  mate  or 
its  offspring  ?  Approach  the  brood  with  hostile  intent  and  it  is  the 
old  hen  that  ruffles  up  her  feathers  so  as  to  look  formidable  and 
dares  to  attack  you.  The  cock  is  never  with  her.  His  business 
is  with  other  hens  that  have  no  chickens  to  distract  their  attention 
from  him. 

The  formidable  weapons  of  the  males  of  many  animals  acquired 
through  sexual  selection  are  employed  exclusively  in  fighting  other 
males,  and  never  in  the  serious  work  of  fighting  enemies.  The 
female  simply  looks  on  and  admires  the  victorious  rival,  and  selects 
him  to  continue  the  species,  thus  at  each  selection  emphasizing 
the  qualities  selected  and  causing  these  qualities  to  tower  up  into 
greater  and  greater  prominence.  The  whole  phenomenon  of  so- 
called  male  superiority  bears  a  certain  stamp  of  spuriousness  and 
sham.  It  is  to  natural  history  what  chivalry  was  to  human  history. 
It  is  pretentious,  meretricious,  quixotic ;  a  sort  of  make-believe,  play, 
or  sport  of  nature  of  an  airy  unsubstantial  character.  The  male  side 
of  nature  shot  up  and  blossomed  out  in  an  unnatural,  fantastic  way, 
cutting  loose  from  the  real  business  of  life  and  attracting  a  share  of 
attention  wholly  disproportionate  to  its  real  importance.  I  call 
it  male  efflorescence.  It  certainly  is  not  male  supremacy,  for 
throughout  the  animal  world  below  man,  in  all  the  serious  and 
essential  affairs  of  life,  the  female  is  still  supreme.  There  is  no 
male  hegemony  or  andrarchy.  Nevertheless  it  represents  organic 
evolution  of  which  both  sexes  have  partaken.  Its  chief  value  lies 
in  the  fact  that  in  lifting  the  male  from  nothing  to  his  present 
estate  it  has  elevated  all  species  and  all  life  and  placed  the  organic 
world  on  a  higher  plane.  The  apparent  male  superiority  in  some 
birds  and  mammals  instead  of  indicating  arrested  development 
in  the  female  indicates  over-development  in  the  male.  Male 
eflforescence  is  an  epiphenomenon.  But  in  all  this  surplus  life 
infused  into  the  male  a  certain  quantity  has  found  its  way  into  the 
stock  and  caused  an  advance.  It  has  been  shown  that  even  the 


332  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

typical  secondary  sexual  characters  crop  out  to  a  limited  extent  also 
in  the  females.  This  was  perceived  by  Darwin, l  and  has  recently 
been  established  on  paleontological  evidence.2  But  it  is  especially 
the  more  solid  and  useful  characters  that  have  thus  advanced. 

Primitive  Woman.  —  To  the  intelligent  and  sympathetic  reader  no 
apology  is  needed  for  having  dwelt  so  long  on  the  prehuman  stage  in 
the  exposition  of  so  unfamiliar  a  subject  as  the  gynaecocentric 
theory.  It  must  be  perfectly  apparent  to  him  that  this  could  be 
done  in  no  other  way.  Long  before  we  reach  the  human  stage  we 
find  all  the  alleged  evidence  of  the  androcentric  theory,  and  without 
such  a  study  of  origins  as  we  have  been  making  there  would  be  no 
counter-evidence,  and  in  fact  no  data  for  understanding  the  real 
meaning  of  this  alleged  evidence.  We  are  now  in  position  at  least 
to  understand  it  and  to  weigh  it,  and  as  I  said  at  the  outset,  there 
will  be  differences  in  the  amount  of  weight  given  to  all  the  facts 
depending  upon  the  differences  in  the  constitution  of  individual 
minds,  and  if  the  facts  can  be  placed  before  all  minds  the  conclu- 
sions drawn  from  them  may  be  safely  left  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves. But  it  so  happens  that  while  the  facts  depended  upon  to 
support  the  androcentric  theory  are  patent  to  all,  those  that  support 
the  gynsecocentric  theory  are  latent  and  known  to  very  few.  But  in 
this  it  does  not  differ  at  all  from  any  of  the  great  truths  of  science. 
The  facts  supposed  to  prove  the  apparent  are  on  the  surface  while 
those  that  prove  the  real,  which  is  usually  the  reverse  of  the 
apparent,  lie  hidden  and  only  come  forth  after  prolonged  investiga- 
tion and  reflection.  The  androcentric  world  view  will  probably  be 
as  slow  to  give  way  as  was  the  geocentric,  or  as  is  still  the 
anthropocentric. 

In  the  larger  apes  that  most  resemble  man  male  efflorescence  is 
tolerably  well  marked,  though  not  so  extreme  as  in  some  other 
animals.  The  comparison  is  usually  with  so-called  anthropoid  or 
tailless  apes,  but  there  are  apes  with  tails  that  have  a  physiognomy 
more  like  that  of  man  than  is  that  of  any  of  the  anthropoids. 
Certain  mandrils  that  I  have  seen  have  strong  Hibernian  features. 
The  white-nosed  seacat,  Cercopithecus  petaurista,  has  decided  African 

1  "  Descent  of  Man,"  New  York,  1871,  Vol.  I,  pp.  270,  271. 

2  "  On  the  evidence  of  the  Transference  of  Secondary  Sexual  Characters  of  Mam- 
mals   from  Males  to  Females,"    by    C.    I.  Forsyth    Major,  Geological  Magazine, 
N.  S.,  London,  Dec.  IV,  Vol.  VIII,  No.  6,  June,  1901,  pp.  241-245. 


CH.  xiv]  PRIMITIVE    WOMAN  333 

and  even  Garibaldian  traits,  while  the  nose-ape,  Semnopithecus 
nasicus,  has  an  almost  English  face.  This  strikingly  human  ap- 
pearance in  these  apes  is  in  part  due  to  the  large  facial  angle,  but 
it  is  chiefly  due  to  the  distribution  of  the  hair  on  the  face,  which  is 
practically  the  same  as  in  a  man.  The  parts  above  the  mouth  are 
hairless  as  in  man  while  the  sides  of  the  face  and  the  chin  are  pro- 
vided with  much  longer  hair  than  that  of  the  rest  of  the  body.  In 
other  words  these  apes  have  a  true  beard  like  that  of  man.  The 
beard  is  the  most  prominent  and  typical  secondary  sexual  character 
of  man,  and  we  see  that  it  was  developed  far  back  in  the  phylo- 
genetic  line.  I  am  not  informed  how  the  females  differ  from  the 
males  in  these  species  of  ape,  but  in  the  orang,  gorilla,  chimpanzee, 
and  gibbon,  the  males  are  much  larger  and  stronger,  and  the  male 
gorilla  at  least  has  much  more  powerful  jaws  and  teeth,  the  canines 
having  almost  the  character  of  tusks. 

Nothing  is  of  course  known  of  the  differences  in  the  sexes  of 
Pithecanthropus  (ape-man),  of  which  only  part  of  one  skeleton  has 
been  found,  but  it  is  a  fair  assumption  that  the  males  were  larger 
and  stronger  than  the  females,  and  possessed  other  distinctively 
male  characters.  The  somewhat  hypothetical  European  Tertiary 
creature  called  Homosirnius  by  Gabriel  and  Adrien  de  Mortillet1 
would  seem  to  connect  the  Pithecanthropus  of  Java  with  the  man  of 
Neanderthal,  which  King 2  first  erected  into  a  distinct  species  and 
named  Homo  Neanderthalensis  (which  view  has  been  accepted  by 
Cope 3  and  Schwalbe 4)  and  later  in  the  same  year 5  declared  in  favor 
of  its  generic  distinctness. 

Unfortunately  Homosimius  is  thus  far  known  only  by  his  works, 
no  part  of  his  skeleton  having  been  found.  Still  these  authors 
name  three  species  of  this  genus,  viz.,  H.  Bourgeoisii,  for  the  man  of 

1  "  Le  Prehistorique.      Origine  et  Antiquite*  de  1'Homme,"  par  Gabriel  et  Adrien 
de  Mortillet,  3e  ed.,  Paris,  1900,  pp.  96-101. 

2  "  On  the  Neanderthal  Skull,  or  Reasons  for  believing  it  belonged  to  the  Clydian 
Period,  and  to  a  species  different  from  that  represented  by  Man,"  by  Professor  W. 
King,  British  Association  Report,  33d  meeting,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  1863,  London, 
1864,  Part  II,  Notices  and  Abstracts,  pp.  81-82. 

8  "  On  the  Genealogy  of  Man,"  by  E.  D.  Cope,  American  Naturalist,  Vol.  XXVII, 
April,  1893,  pp.  321-335  (see  p.  331). 

4  "  Ueber  die  specifischen  Merkmale  des  Neanderthalschadels,"  von  G.  Schwalbe, 
Anatomischer  Anzeiger,  Verhandl.  d.  Anat.  Ges.,  XV.  Versamml.,  Bonn,  26-29  Mai, 
1901,  Jena,  1901,  pp.  44-61. 

6  "  The  Reputed  Fossil  Man  of  the  Neanderthal,"  by  Professor  William  King, 
Quarterly  Journal  of  Science,  Vol.  I,  January,  1864,  pp.  88-97. 


334  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

Thenay ;  H.  Ribeiroi,  for  that  of  Otta ;  and  H.  Ramesii,  for  that  of 
Puy-Courny.  They  claim  to  have  positive  proof  that  the  first 
of  these  used  fire  in  breaking  flints.  The  other  two  broke  them  by 
percussion.  These  acts  alone  would  make  them  men,  i.e.,  rational 
beings,  capable  of  utilizing  the  forces  of  nature  to  their  own  advan- 
tage. No  true  animal,  as  I  have  successfully  maintained,  attains  to 
this  intellectual  stage  (see  infra.,  p.  514). 

On  the  evolution  theory  we  are  obliged  to  assume  that  the  transi- 
tion from  the  truly  animal  ancestor  of  man  to  the  truly  human  being 
was  by  a  series  of  imperceptible  steps,  and  therefore  the  exact  line 
between  animal  and  man  cannot  of  course  be  drawn  and  could  not 
be  if  all  the  steps  were  represented  in  the  paleontological  and 
archaeological  record.  But  it  is  of  the  greatest  interest  to  discover 
and  trace  out  in  both  these  sciences  as  many  steps  as  possible  in  the 
series  leading  up  to  existing  man.  From  now  on  we  are  to  deal  with 
man  as  we  actually  know  him,  and  to  consider  the  relations  between 
man  and  woman,  physically  and  socially.  In  all  known  human 
races  man  is  found  to  be  larger  and  stronger  than  woman,  and  to 
have  certain  of  the  typical  secondary  sexual  characters,  but  these 
latter  differ  in  different  races  and  have  no  special  value  for  our 
subject. 

A  survey  of  this  field  soon  shows  that  we  are  on  a  new  plane  of 
existence.  We  have  reached  another  of  those  turns  in  the  lane  of 
evolution  at  which  a  new  era  begins.  It  is  one  of  those  cosmical 
crises  mentioned  in  Chapter  V,  in  which  a  new  and  at  first  un per- 
ceived and  unimportant  element  suddenly  assumes  vast  proportions 
and  causes  a  complete  change  of  front  in  the  march  of  events.  We 
have  encountered  several  such.  The  rise  of  the  esthetic  faculty 
which  led  to  sexual  selection,  evolved  the  male  sex,  and  carried  it 
up  to  such  giddy  heights,  should  have  been  set  down  as  one  of  these 
differential  attributes  producing  unintended  effects,  which  in  this 
sense  are,  if  not  abnormal,  at  least  extra-normal,  ultra-normal,  and 
supra-normal.  On  the  human  plane  we  encounter  another  such  an 
element,  not  indeed  one  that  has  been  overlooked,  but  one  that  pro- 
duced a  large  number  of  deviations  from  the  norm,  some  of  which 
have  been  considered,  others  of  which  will  be  considered  later  on, 
and  one  of  which  now  confronts  us  in  our  attempts  to  explain  the 
relations  of  the  sexes.  This  new  element  is  none  other  than  the 
presence  in  man  of  a  rational  faculty.  We  saw  in  Chapter  X  how 


CH.  xiv]  PRIMITIVE   WOMAN  335 

this  faculty  alone  gave  man  the  dominion  of  the  earth.  We  may 
now  see  how  the  same  faculty  gave  to  man  in  the  narrower  sense  the 
dominion  of  woman.  We  have  seen  that  notwithstanding  all  the 
shining  qualities  with  which  female  taste  endowed  the  males  of  cer- 
tain of  the  higher  types  of  animals,  including  the  immediate  ancestors 
of  man,  there  is  not  and  never  can  be  in  any  of  these  types  any  true 
male  hegemony,  and  that  everywhere  and  always,  regardless  of  rela- 
tive size,  strength,  beauty,  or  courage,  the  mothers  of  the  race  have 
held  the  rein  and  held  the  male  aspirants  to  a  strict  accountability. 
In  a  non-rational  world  there  could  be  no  other  economy,  since  to 
place  affairs  in  the  hands  of  the  "  fickle  and  changeable  "  sex l  would 
bring  speedy  and  certain  ruin  to  any  animal  species. 

But  the  term  "  rational,"  as  here  employed,  is  misleading  to  the 
average  mind.     The  popular  idea  that  it  conveys  is  akin  to  that  im- 
plied in  the  word  reasonable.     A  rational  being  is  supposed  to  be 
incapable  of  an  irrational  act,  and  from  this  idea  the  word  is  some 
way  connected  with  right  or  moral  action.     But  applied  to  primitive 
man  it  should   be  divested   of  all   these   implications.     It  simply 
means   a  being  capable  of  reasoning  about  the  simplest  and  most  - 
material  things.     The   rational  faculty  began   as  a  purely  egoistic  I 
servant  of  the  will  in  better  securing  the  objects  of  desire.     Its  chief  1 
role  was  to  supplant  instinct.     To  do  this  it  must  attain  a  certain 
strength.     It  is  a  preeminently  centrifugal  faculty,  and  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point  it  must  be  under  the  power  of  instinct.     It  is  instinct  * 
which,  throughout  the  animal  kingdom  below  man,  maintains  female 
supremacy  and  prevents  the  destruction  of  animal  races.     But  with 
man  reason  begins  to  gain  the  ascendant  over  instinct.     This  means 
that  it  is  strong  enough  to  break  over  the  restraints  of  instinct  and 
still  avert  danger.     Until  it  reaches  this  point  it  is  self-destructive, 
since  natural  selection  eliminates  the  wayward. 

Increased  brain  mass  became  a  secondary  sexual  character.  It 
has  been  already  noted  that  the  chief  stress  has  been  laid  on  those 
comparatively  unimportant  characters,  such  as  horns,  spurs,  bright 
colors,  and  musical  powers,  as  the  products  of  sexual  selection, 
while  increased  bulk  and  strength,  and  the  assimilation  of  form  to 
that  of  the  primary  organism  or  female,  are  characters  rarely  men- 
tioned in  that  connection,  although  these  are  by  far  the  most  impor- 

1  The  "  varium  et  mutabile  semper  femina  "  of  Virgil  (Book  IV,  lines  569-570)  is  a 
typical  androcentric  sentiment,  and  the  precise  reverse  of  the  truth. 


336  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

tant.  It  is  the  same  with  brain  development.  Because  brain  is 
common  to  both  sexes  its  increase  as  the  result  of  female  preference 
is  not  noticed.  Yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  success  in  rivalry 
for  female  favor  became  more  and  more  dependent  upon  sagacity, 
and  that  this  led  to  brain  development.  It  also  seems  certain  that, 
as  in  the  case  of  size  of  body,  so  in  that  of  size  of  brain,  a  dispropor- 
tionate share  of  the  increment  acquired  went  to  the  male.  But 
throughout  the  later  geologic  periods,  and  to  some  extent  in  all 
periods,  the  brain  gained  upon  the  body,  as  shown  by  the  phenomena 
of  cephalization,  whereby  the  head,  and  especially  the  encephalon, 
has  been  growing  larger  in  proportion  to  the  body  in  all  the  great 
phylogenetic  lines.  Natural  selection  might  bring  this  about  to  some 
extent,  but  the  greater  part  of  it  is  probably  attributable  to  sexual 
selection,  and  the  male  brain  has  thus  gradually  gained  upon  that  of 
the  female,  until  we  have  the  present  state  of  things. 

Now  this  male  brain  development  it  is  that  has  brought  about  the 
great  change,  and  has  constituted  man  a  being  apart  from  the  rest 
of  creation,  enabling  him  with  increasing  safety  to  violate  the 
restraints  of  instinct  and  inaugurate  a  regime  wholly  different  from 
that  of  the  animal  world  out  of  which  he  has  developed.  Having 
become  larger  and  physically  stronger  than  woman,  his  egoistic  rea- 
son, unfettered  by  any  such  sentiment  as  sympathy,  and  therefore 
wholly  devoid  of  moral  conceptions  of  any  kind,  naturally  led  him 
to  employ  his  superior  strength  in  exacting  from  woman  whatever 
satisfaction  she  could  yield  him.  The  first  blow  that  he  struck  in 
this  direction  wrought  the  whole  transformation.  The  aegis  and 
palladium  of  the  female  sex  had  been  from  the  beginning  her  power 
of  choice.  This  rational  man  early  set  about  wresting  from  woman, 
and  although,  as  we  shall  see,  this  was  not  accomplished  all  at  once, 
still  it  was  accomplished  very  early,  and  for  the  mother  of  mankind 
all  was  lost. 

Gyncecocracy.  —  In  a  broad  general  sense  the  relations  of  the  sexes 
throughout  the  animal  kingdom,  as  above  described,  might  be  charac- 
terized as  a  gynaecocracy,  or  female  rule,  for  which  the  form  gynce- 
carchy,  already  employed  (supra',  p.  328),  is  perhaps  to  be  preferred. 
But  I  propose  to  restrict  the  term,  as  did  Bachof  en,1  to  the  human  race, 

1  "  Das  Mutterrecht.  Bine  Untersuchung  iiber  die  Gynaikokratie  der  alten  Welt 
nach  ihrer  religiosen  und  rechtlichen  Natur,"  von  J.  J.  Bachofen,  Stuttgart,  1861: 
Zweite  unveranderte  Auflage,  Basel,  1897,  4°,  pp.  XL,  440. 


CH.  xiv]  GYN^ECOCRACY  337 

and  to  a  phase  of  the  early  history  of  man,  which,  though  almost  un- 
known prior  to  the  astonishingly  erudite  and  exhaustive  researches 
of  Bachof en,  is  now  known  always  to  have  existed  and  still  to  exist 
at  the  proper  status  of  culture  or  stage  of  man's  history.  Making 
all  due  allowance  for  the  unreliability  of  the  accounts  of  travelers, 
and  the  disposition  to  exaggerate  everything  that  is  opposed  to 
civilized  customs,  there  still  remains  far  too  large  a  volume  of  facts 
bearing  on  this  state  to  be  passed  over  as  meaningless  or  worthless. 
In  fact  this  tendency  to  exaggerate  them  is  doubtless  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  influence  of  the  androcentric  world  view  in 
causing  them  to  be  overlooked.  Ethnographers  constantly  lean 
toward  their  rejection  or  the  minimizing  of  their  significance.  They 
are  in  their  way  in  working  out  a  complete  androcentric  system  of 
ethnology. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  true  beginnings  of  man  are  not 
known  in  the  sense  that  races  exist  representing  such  beginnings. 
The  lowest  races  known  are  relatively  far  advanced  and  belong  to 
old  stocks.  It  is  natural  to  suppose  that,  at  much  lower  stages  than 
any  of  these  represent,  woman,  almost  to  the  same  extent  as  among 
the  female  anthropoids,  possessed  absolute  power  of  choice  and 
rejection,  and  in  this  most  vital  respect,  was  the  ruling  sex.  Sexual 
selection  may  have  been  still  in  action,  still  further  modifying  the 
attributes  of  men.  Mr.  Spencer  gives  one  case  that  points  in  this 
direction  even  among  existing  races:  "  Tuckey,  speaking  of  certain 
Congo  .people  who  make  scars,  says  that  this  is  'principally  done 
with  the  idea  of  rendering  themselves  agreeable  to  the  women : '  a 
motive  which  is  intelligible  if  such  scars  originally  passed  for  scars 
got  in  war,  and  implying  bravery."  l  There  are  many  indications 
that  woman  was  slow  to  surrender  her  scepter,  and  that  the  gradual 
loss  of  her  power  of  rejection  and  selection  took  place  with  all  the 
irregularity  that  characterizes  all  natural  phenomena.  Circum- 
stances of  every  kind  impeded  or  favored  it,  and  the  scattered 
hordes  exerted  no  influence  on  one  another  to  produce  uniformity  in 
this  respect.  Nothing  is  more  varied  than  the  relations  of  the  sexes 
among  existing  races  of  men.  Almost  every  conceivable  form  of 
marriage,  or  union,  has  been  found.  '  While  most  persons  suppose 
that  nothing  is  so  certainly  fixed  by  nature,  and  even  by  divine 
decree,  as  the  particular  form  of  marriage  that  happens  to  prevail 
l  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  II,  New  York,  1896,  p.  75  (§  265). 


338  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

in  their  own  country,  ethnologists  know  that  nothing  is  so  purely 
conventional  as  just  this  fact  of  the  ways  in  which  men  and  women 
arrange  or  agree  to  carry  on  the  work  of  continuing  the  race. 

About  the  time  that  the  transformation  from  apehood  to  manhood 
took  place  it  is  probable  that  the  males  were  considerably  larger  and 
stronger  than  the  females,  but  that  the  females  compelled  the  males 
to  conform  to  their  choice,  thus  keeping  up  the  action  of  selection 
and  its  legitimate  effects.  With  the  advent  of  incipient  rationality 
it  could  scarcely  be  otherwise  than  that  this  long  fixed  condition 
should  be  somewhat  disturbed.  As  rationality  was  acquired  by  both 
sexes,  though  perhaps  in  somewhat  unequal  degrees,  if  it  was  to 
cause  one  sex  to  dominate  the  other,  circumstances  must  decide,  at 
least  at  first,  which  should  be  the  dominant  sex.  As  the  female  sex 
had  thus  far  always  exercised  supremacy  in  the  most  vital  matters, 
it  might  be  supposed  that  woman  would  prove  the  dominant  sex  in 
primitive  hordes.  That  this  was  the  original  tendency  and  logic  of 
events  is  abundantly  shown  by  the  survivals  of  it  that  we  find,  and 
by  the  real  condition  of  the"  lowest  existing  races. 

The  first  and  most  striking  form  of  evidence  pointing  this  way 
consists  in  a  class  of  facts  that  may  be  roughly  grouped  under  the 
general  head  of  amazonism,  although  they  show  not  only  widely 
different  degrees  of  this  state,  but  also  a  great  variety  of  forms  of 
it.  These  are  all  described  in  the  numerous  standard  works  in 
which  the  facts  have  been  laboriously  compiled,  and  space  does  not 
permit  me  to  attempt  their  enumeration.  It  is  enough  to  note  that 
phenomena  of  this  class,  sufficient  to  show  a  greater  or  less  degree 
of  female  supremacy,  have  been  observed  in  at  least  a  score  of  races. 
Some  of  those  most  frequently  referred  to  are  the  following :  Natives 
of  the  Khasi  Hills  in  Assam ;  Naiars  of  the  Malabar  coast ;  Dyaks 
of  Borneo;  Batta  people  in  Sumatra;  Dahomans,  West  Africa; 
Mombuttus,  Central  Africa;  natives  of  Madagascar;  inhabitants  of 
Imohagh  in  the  desert  of  Sahara;  natives  of  New  Britain  (Keu- 
Pommern),  Australasia;  Euegians;  Botocudos  of  Eastern  Brazil; 
Nicaraguans;  Indians  of  the  province  of  Cueva,  Central  America. 
This  list  covers  a  large  part  of  the  world.  That  it  should  consist 
chiefly  of  somewhat  remote,  outlying  regions  is  of  course  what  we 
should  expect.  That  it  was  once  far  more  general,  however,  is 
proved  by  records  of  it  even  in  Europe,  notably  among  the  ancient 
Bretons  and  Scots.  It  was  probably  well-nigh  universal,  in  the 


CH.  xiv]  GYX^ICOCRACY  339 

sense  that  each  race  has  passed  through  that  stage,  although 
different  races  doubtless  passed  out  of  it  not  only  at  different  times, 
but  at  different  relative  points  in  their  history  or  development. 

The  other  principal  group  of  facts  that  support  the  claim  for  a 
primitive  stage  of  gynsecocracy  is  that  relating  to  what  is  variously 
called  matriarchy,  motherright,  the  matriarchate,  and  the  metronymic 
family.  Bachofen  greatly  disturbed  the  smooth  androcentric  current 
that  had  thus  far  been  flowing,  when  in  1861  he  announced  that  the 
ancient  laws  and  records,  both  written  and  hieroglyphic,  indicated  a 
widespread  system  of  descent  and  inheritance  in  the  female  line 
among  both  Aryan  and  Semitic  peoples,  and  from  data  in  his  possession 
he  worked  out  an  entirely  new  theory  of  the  early  relations  of  the 
sexes.  He  concluded  that  the  original  state  was  one  similar  to  the 
hetairism  of  the  early  Greeks,  and  that  this  passed  into  a  form  of 
female  rule  which  he  called  "  demetric  gynaecocracy." *  Soon  after 
McLennan  independently  discovered  that  a  large  number  of  existing 
uncivilized  races  still  reckon  through  the  female  line  and  actually 
have  a  more  or  less  complete  system  of  motherright.  Morgan  in 
studying  the  North  American  Indians  found  a  similar  condition  of 
things  complicated  by  a  sort  of  group  marriage.  Since  then  ethnolo- 
gists have  studied  the  marriage  relations  of  large  numbers  of  tribes, 
finding  of  course  great  differences  and  nearly  all  gradations  from  the 
matriarchal  to  the  patriarchal  condition.  The  literature  has  become 
voluminous  and  is  largely  controversial,  so  that  it  is  difficult  for  one 
seeking  simply  the  truth  to  disengage  any  clear  principles.  The 
obvious  zeal  on  the  part  of  many  to  protect  the  human  race  from  the 
supposed  disgrace  of  having  ever  had  sexual  relations  that  their  age 
and  country  condemns  is  a  large  element  of  untrustworthiness  in  the 
discussions. 

While  the  animal  origin  of  man  is  now  almost  universally  admitted 
by  anthropologists  and  by  well-informed  persons  generally,  there  is 
manifest  a  very  tardy  recognition  of  its  full  meaning.  No  blame 
ever  attaches  to  the  sexual  relations  of  animals.  They  are  usually  or 
always  such  as  best  subserve  the  needs  of  different  species ;  at  least 
they  are  such  as  the  conditions  actually  produced.  It  was  the  same 
with  man  when  he  emerged  from  the  animal  state,  and,  properly 
viewed,  they  have  always  been  such  since  that  date.  The  multi- 
tudinous forms  of  marriage  have  all  been  the  products  of  the  con- 
1  "  Das  Mutterrecht,"  Introduction,  p.  XIX. 


340  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

ditious  of  existence.  A  common  error  tacitly  entertained  is  that 
animals  carry  on  the  process  of  reproduction  and  rearing  of  the 
young  by  a  conscious  attention  to  this  important  business.  They  are 
supposed  to  woo  and  mate  for  this  purpose,  and  to  care  for  their 
offspring  with  an  eye  to  the  interests  of  the  species.  The  fact  is  that 
these  functional  results  are  the  consequences  of  the  law  of  adaptation, 
and  the  agents  are  wholly  unconscious  of  them  as  anything  to  be 
attained  by  their  actions.  They  only  seek  their  interests  in  the 
form  of  feelings,  which  are  so  regulated  by  instinct  as  to  secure  the 
results.  For  example,  as  has  already  been  said,  animals  can  have 
no  knowledge  of  the  connection  between  mating  and  propagating. 
All  they  know  is  that  they  like  to  mate.  The  female  brings  forth 
her  young  with  no  conception  of  the  part  the  male  has  had  in  it. 
She  cares  for  her  young  because  she  is  impelled  to  do  so  by  an 
innate  interest,  in  short,  because  she  likes  to  do  so.  All  this  is 
true  of  all  animal  species,  and  it  is  not  at  all  probable  that  the 
degree  of  reasoning  power  that  enabled  primitive  man  to  perceive 
that  the  fertilization  of  the  male  was  a  necessary  condition  to  repro- 
duction was  attained  until  long  after  the  full  human  estate  had  been 
reached  and  man  had  advanced  far  into  the  protosocial  stage.  The 
fact  that  races  still  exist  incapable  of  performing  such  an  act  of 
ratiocination  proves  that  the  inability  to  perform  it  must  have  once 
been  general. 

In  such  a  state  it  was  natural  and  necessary  that  everything 
should  be  traced  to  the  mother.  The  father  was  unknown  and  un- 
thought  of.  The  idea  of  paternity  did  not  exist.  ^Maternity  was 
everything.  Fertilization  and  reproduction  were  as  completely  sep- 
arated in  thought  as  they  have  been  shown  to  be  in  essence.  That 
under  such  circumstances  mother-rule  and  mother-right  should  pre- 
vail is  among  the  necessities  of  existence.  Amazonism,  matriarchy, 
and  all  the  forms  of  gynaecocracy  that  are  found  among  primitive 
peoples,  instead  of  being  anomalies  or  curiosities,  are  simply  survi- 
vals of  this  early  and  probably  very  long  stage  in  the  history  of  man 
and  society  of  which  no  other  evidence  now  exists,  but  which  is  the 
logical  and  inevitable  conclusion  that  must  follow  the  admission  of 
the  animal  origin  of  man. 

That  the  sexual  relations  of  our  most  remote  ancestors  under  such 
circumstances  should  be  what  would  now  be  called  lax,  or  even  pro- 
miscuous, is  nothing  more  than  we  should  expect,  and  notwithstand- 


CH.  xiv]  ANDROCRACY  341 

ing  the  laudable  efforts  of  certain  ethnologists  to  prove  the  contrary, 
or  at  least  to  palliate  the  supposed  humiliation  involved  in  such  a 
state  of  things,  the  facts  we  have,  even  among  the  relatively  advanced 
existing  races,  abundantly  establish  inductively  the  conclusion  that 
can  alone  be  reached  deductively.  I  could  easily  fill  a  chapter  with 
the  bare  enumeration  of  these  facts,  but  they  would  be  distasteful 
reading  and  may  all  be  found  in  the  great  storehouses  of  facts  that 
have  been  accumulated  through  the  indefatigable  labors  of  ethnog- 
raphers. Only  the  general  conclusion  from  all  these  facts  can  be 
stated  here,  and  I  prefer  to  state  it  in  the  words  of  one  who  labored 
long  and  faithfully  in  this  field  and  who  was  not  afraid  of  any  real 
truth  to  which  the  facts  lead :  — 

In  the  lower  grades  of  civilization,  in  the  most  primitive  human  hordes, 
there  is  nothing  yet  that  deserves  the  name  of  marriage.  It  is  by  the  hazard 
of  necessity  that  sexual  unions,  or  rather,  couplings,  take  place,'  and  one 
single  law  governs  them  :  the  law  of  the  strongest.1 

But  even  here  Letourneau  had  in  mind  a  later  stage  than  the  one 
we  are  now  considering.  This  is  a  stage  in  which  "  the  law  of  the 
strongest"  applies  only  in  the  sense  that  the  strongest  rival  wins 
the  prize.  It  is  the  strongest  man,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
relative  strength  of  man  and  woman.  So  long  as  woman  retains  her 
power  to  select  and  reject,  relative  male  strength  is  an  element,  but 
only  one  element  among  many.  Woman's  idea  of  male  beauty  still 
counts  in  the  balance,  and  such  moral  qualities  as  courage,  persis- 
tence, and  powers  of  persuasion  do  their  share.  Finally,  already, 
certain  mental  qualities  begin  to  tell,  especially  cunning  in  outwit- 
ting, circumventing,  and  thereby  overcoming  rivals. 

Androcracy.  —  At  some  point  quite  early  in  the  protosocial  stage  it 
began  slowly  to  dawn  upon  the  growing  intellect  of  man  that  a 
causal  connection  existed  between  these  couplings  of  men  and 
women  and  the  birth  of  children.  It  was  this  simple  act  of  ratio- 
cination that  literally  reversed  the  whole  social  system.  For  the 
first  time  the  man  began  to  perceive  that  he,  too,  had  a  part  in  the 
continuance  of  the  race,  that  the  children  were  in  part  his,  and  not 
wholly  the  woman's.  The  idea,  however,  was  very  slow  to  take 
root.  The  only  absolutely  certain  antecedent  to  the  existence  of  a 
child  was  the  parturition  of  the  mother.  That  the  child  came  from 

1  "  La  Sociologie  d'apres  1'Ethnographie,"  par  Charles  Letourneau,  3e  ed.,  Paris, 
1892,  p.  375. 


342  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

her  was  something  about  which  there  could  be  no  doubt.  That  it 
came  in  any  manner  from  him  was  highly  problematical  to  the 
primitive  mind.  In  order  that  a  child  be  born  the  mother  must 
pass  through  the  throes  of  child-birth,  must  suffer  pangs,  must  re- 
main for  a  greater  or  less  period  prostrate  and  helpless,  as  if  the 
victim  of  disease.  This  temporary  illness  having  always  without 
exception  accompanied  the  birth  of  a  child  through  the  entire  his- 
tory of  any  horde  or  race,  became  indissolubly  associated  with  it,  so 
that  the  two  constituted  a  single  compound  conception  in  the  savage 
mind.  It  may  seem  strange  to  the  civilized  mind  that  two  such  dif- 
ferent facts  could  not  be  separated  in  thought,  but  it  is  proved  that 
they  could  not,  and  I  know  of  no  better  illustration  of  the  feeble 
power  of  abstraction  in  the  dawning  intellect  than  is  furnished  by 
this  fact.  The  use  of  fictions  by  savages  is  often  referred  to  as  an 
illustration  of  their  ingenuity.  Correctly  analyzed  it  simply  proves 
their  incapacity  to  separate  ideas  that  habitually  occur  together. 
Facts  that  are  habitually  associated  cannot  be  thought  of  apart  and 
independently.  When  their  separation  is  forced  upon  them  they 
invent  some  fiction  which  really  avoids  the  necessity  of  separating 
them  and  still  holds  them  together.  Illness  and  child-birth  were 
two  facts  that  had  always  been  associated,  that  in  fact  always  had 
gone  together.  The  existence  of  a  child  must  presuppose  the  tem- 
porary illness  of  the  person  that  has  the  child.  If  any  one  should 
say  to  a  man,  that  child  is  partly  yours,  he  may  be  imagined  to  re- 
ply, How  so  ?  I  have  not  been  ill.  But  when  the  causal  connection 
finally  became  generally  recognized,  and  the  parental  relation  of  the 
father  admitted,  he  was  naturally  disposed  to  claim  his  title  to  the 
offspring.  In  complete  promiscuity  where  any  one  of  a  large  num- 
ber of  men  might  be  the  father  of  a  child,  no  such  claim  could  be  set 
up  even  if  the  causal  connection  referred  to  was  believed  to  exist. 
But  it  may  be  supposed  that  even  in  the  most  primitive  hordes,  as 
among  some  of  the  anthropoid  apes  and  many  animals  less  highly 
developed,  a  certain  amount  of  monogamic  or  polygynic  pairing 
would  take  place,  so  that  the  father  could  be  certain  that  no  other 
man  could  have  had  a  share  in  the  creation  of  the  children  of  one  or 
several  women  with  whom  he  lived.  In  such  cases  the  claim  to 
paternity  would  and  no  doubt  did  naturally  arise.  But  so  firmly 
did  the  ideas  of  temporary  illness  and  child-birth  cohere  in  the  mind 
that  it  was  not  considered  an  adequate  claim  to  any  proprietary 


CH.  xiv]  ANDROCRACY  343 

title  to  the  child  until  this  illness  had  actually  been  gone  through 
with.  But  as  the  father  was  not  really  made  ill  by  the  birth  of  the 
child  it  was  adjudged  essential  that  he  should  feign  such  illness 
and  take  to  his  bed  for  the  prescribed  period.  Absurd  as  all  this 
may  seem,  it  is  what  actually  takes  place  even  to-day  among  a  large 
number  of  primitive  peoples  in  widely  different  parts  of  the  world. 
During  these  periods  the  man  actually  takes  the  kind  of  medicine 
that  is  given  the  woman,  asafoetida,  etc.  This  is  characterized  by 
Tylor  as  "  the  world-wide  custom  of  the  '  couvade,'  where  at  child- 
birth the  husband  undergoes  medical  treatment,  in  many  cases  being 
put  to  bed  for  days." 1  The  couvade  has  been  so  generally  treated 
by  ethnographers  and  writers  on  uncivilized  races  that  it  need  not 
be  discussed  here  further  than  to  point  out  its  social  significance. 
Bachofen 2  came  quite  as  near  its  correct  interpretation  as  have  his 
critics  and  later  writers.  Sir  John  Lubbock 3  (Lord  Avebury)  gives 
the  views  of  a  number  of  authors,  most  of  which  are  highly  improb- 
able, inclining  himself  to  connect  it  in  some  way  with  the  doctrine 
of  signatures.  It  certainly  represents  one  of  Tylor's  "  ethnographic 
parallels,"  but  he  denies  that  he  regards  it  as  "  evidence  that  the 
races  by  whom  it  is  practised  belong  to  one  variety  of  the  human 
species,"  *  and  finally  admits  that  "  it  may  have  come  to  serve  in 
something  like  the  way  suggested  by  Bachofen,  as  a  symbol  belong- 
ing to  the  rule  of  male  kinship." s  The  fact  is  that  wherever  now 
met  with  it  exists  chiefly  as  a  survival  from  a  remote  and  forgotten 
past,  and  like  everything  else  it  has  during  this  long  history  sur- 
rounded itself  with  a  mass  of  absurd  practices,  gross  superstitions, 
and  extraneous  associations,  and  these  have  come  to  take  the  first 
place  in  the  savage  mind,  while  the  real  reason  for  the  existence  of 
such  a  custom  has  been  wholly  lost  from  view.  Those  who  practice 
it  are  therefore  the  last  persons  in  the  world  from  whom  to  expect 
a  correct  explanation  of  it.  Letourneau,  who  went  carefully  over 
the  whole  field  of  the  status  of  primitive  woman,  said  in  his  con- 
cluding lecture :  — 

For  a  long  time  it  was  not  suspected  that  the  man  had   anything  to  do 
with  the  pregnancy  of  the  woman.     When  it  began  to  be  suspected  the 

1  "  Primitive  Culture,"  by  Edward  B.  Tylor,  London,  1871,  Vol.  I,  p.  76. 

2  "Das  Mutterrecht,"  Stuttgart,  1861,  pp.  17,  255,  256. 
8  "  Origin  of  Civilization,"  New  York  1871,  p.  12. 

4  "Researches  into  the  Early  History  of  Mankind,"  New  York,  1878,  p.  305  (foot- 
note). ^  Ibid.,  p.  298. 


344  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  ir 

ridiculous  ceremonies  of  the  couvade  were  invented  by  which  the  man,  in 
recognizing  his  paternity,  sought  also  to  draw  upon  himself,  in  part  at  least, 
the  malevolence  of  the  evil  spirits  who  watched  the  mother  during  and 
after  the  labor  of  parturition.  The  couvade  has  been  discovered  in  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  races  and  sufficiently  often  to  justify  the  belief  that  the 
state  of  mind  that  it  reveals  was  common  to  all  peoples  at  a  certain  stage 
of  their  evolution.1 

He  had  previously  said  that  in  Africa  "  the  husband  sometimes 
submits  to  the  ceremony  of  the  couvade  in  order  to  reenforce  the 
bonds  of  parentage  with  the  children  of  his  wife.  ...  In  many 
[South  American]  tribes  the  practice  of  the  couvade  is  observed, 
which  seems  to  be  an  effort  to  create  paternal  filiation." 2 

One  of  the  objections  to  this  interpretation  of  the  meaning  of  the 
couvade  was  that  a  certain  tribe,  the  Mancusis,  who  practice  it,  "  so 
far  from  reckoning  the  parentage  as  having  been  transferred  to  the 
father  by  the  couvade,  are  actually  among  the  tribes  who  do  not 
reckon  kinship  on  the  father's  side,  the  child  belonging  to  the 
mother's  clan."  *  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  couvade  would 
produce  a  sudden  reversal  of  what  had  been  the  order  of  nature 
throughout  all  past  time.  It  is  not  probable  that  the  father 
expected  by  it  to  demonstrate  his  exclusive  right  to  the  ownership 
of  the  child.  It  is  forgotten  that  prior  to  the  couvade  the  father 
had  not  suspected  that  he  had  contributed  in  the  least  to  the 
creation  of  the  child.  The  object  of  the  couvade  was  solely  to 
establish  by  a  fiction  the  fact  of  paternity  or  joint  action  with  the 
mother  in  bringing  the  child  into  existence.  The  question  of  domi- 
nation or  supremacy  was  an  after  consideration.  The  couvade 
was  the  first  step  toward  fatherright  and  the  patriarchate.  Certain 
it  was  that  the  latter  could  never  have  been  attained  so  long  as 
children  were  believed  to  be  the  exclusive  creation  of  women.  So 
long  as  that  view  obtained  gynaecocracy  was  the  only  condition 
possible. 

But  the  idea  once  firmly  established  that  the  family  was  a  joint 
product  of  the  woman  and  the  man,  it  is  easy  to  see  the  important 
results  that  would  naturally  follow.  The  same  strengthening  of  the 

1  "  La  femme  k  travers  les  &ges.     Le^on  de  cloture  d'un  cours  sur  la  condition  des 
femmes  dans  les  diverses  races,"  par  Charles  Letourneau,  Revue  de  I'JScole  d'Aii- 
thropologie  de  Paris,  onzieme  annee,  Vol.  IX,  septembre,  1901,  pp.  273-290.    See 
p.  280. 

2  "  La  Sociologie  d'apres  I'Ethnographie,"  3«  e'd.,  Paris,  1892,  pp.  384,  385. 
8  Tyler,  loc.  cit.,  p.  298. 


CH.  xiv]  ANDROCRACY  345 

reasoning  powers  that  made  the  discovery  of  paternity  possible 
worked  in  all  other  directions.  Paternity  implied  power  over 
the  child,  which  was  now  exercised  by  the  father  as  well  as  by 
the  mother.  But  it  went  much  farther.  Equal  authority  with  the 
mother  soon  lead  to  a  comparison  of  physical  strength  between  the 
sexes,  which  had  never  been  made  before  for  precisely  the  same  rea- 
son that  the  lion  never  compares  strength  with  the  lioness,  the  hart 
with  the  hind,  the  bull  with  the  cow,  or  the  cock  with  the  hen. 
Physical  strength  never  comes  in  question  in  the  gynaecocratic 
state.  The  female  dispenses  her  favors  according  to  her  choice,  and 
the  males  acquiesce  after  venting  their  jealousy  on  one  another. 
The  idea  of  coercing  the  female  or  extorting  her  favor  never  so 
much  as  occurs  to  the  male  mind.  The  virtue  of  the  female  animal 
is  absolute,  for  virtue  does  not  consist,  as  many  suppose,  in  refusal, 
but  in  selection.  It  is  refusal  of  the  unfit  and  of  all  at  improper 
times  and  places.  This  definition  of  virtue  applies  to  human  beings, 
even  the  most  civilized,  as  well  as  to  animals.  The  female  animal 
or  the  human  female  in  the  gynaecocratic  state  would  perish  before 
she  would  surrender  her  virtue. 

The  passage  from  the  gynaecocratic  to  the  androcratic  state  was 
•characterized  on  the  part  of  man  by  the  loss  of  his  normal  chivalry 
and  respect  for  the  preferences  of  woman,  and  on  the  part  of 
woman  by  the  loss  of  her  virtue.  Both  the  time-honored  assertion 
of  authority  by  woman  and  submission  to  it  by  man  were  abrogated. 
In  discovering  his  paternity  and  accompanying  authority  man  also 
discovered  his  power,  which  at  that  stage  meant  simply  physical 
strength.  He  began  to  learn  the  economic  value  of  woman  and  to 
exert  his  superior  power  in  the  direction  of  exacting  not  only  favors 
but  service  from  her.  The  gynaecocratic  regime  once  broken  over 
the  steps  were  short  and  rapid  to  complete  androcracy.  The  patri- 
archate or  patriarchal  system,  in  which  the  man  assumed  complete 
supremacy,  was  the  natural  sequel  to  the  process  that  had  begun. 
It  was  all  the  product  of  the  strengthening  intellect  which  refused 
longer  to  be  bound  by  the  bonds  of  animal  instinct  and  broke  away 
from  the  functional  restraints  that  adaptation  had  imposed  upon 
the  sexes.  The  man  saw  that  he  was  the  master  creature,  that 
woman  was  smaller,  weaker,  less  shrewd  and  cunning  than  he,  and 
at  the  same  time  could  be  made  to  contribute  to  his  pleasure  and  his 
wants,  and  he  proceeded  to  appropriate  her  accordingly. 


346  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

The  Subjection  of  Woman.  —  When  John  Stuart  Mill  used  this 
expression  as  the  title  for  his  book  he  had  only  the  philosopher's 
penetration  into  a  great  truth.  He  had  comparatively  little  light 
from  anthropology  and  scarcely  any  from  biology.  Its  true  meaning, 
therefore,  as  a  phase  of  the  history  of  man,  as  something  impossible 
to  the  so-called  "  brute  creation,"  and  as  a  pure  product  of  human 
reason  untempered  by  altruistic  sentiments,  was  for  the  most  part 
lost  to  him.  The  most  unfortunate  fact  in  the  history  of  human 
development  is  the  fact  that  the  rational  faculty  so  far  outstripped 
the  moral  sentiments.  This  is  really  because  moral  sentiments 
require  such  a  high  degree  of  reasoning  power.  The  intuitive  rea- 
son, which  is  purely  egoistic,  is  almost  the  earliest  manifestation  of 
the  directive  agent  and  requires  only  a  low  degree  of  the  faculty  of 
reasoning.  But  sympathy  requires  a  power  of  putting  one's  self  in 
the  place  of  another,  of  representing  to  self  the  pains  of  others. 
When  this  power  is  acquired  it  causes  a  reflex  of  the  represented 
pain  to  self,  and  this  reflected  pain  felt  by  the  person  representing 
it  becomes  more  and  more  acute  and  unendurable  as  the  representa- 
tion becomes  more  vivid  and  as  the  general  organization  becomes 
more  delicate  and  refined.  This  high  degree  was  far  from  being 
attained  by  man  at  the  early  stage  with  which  we  are  now  dealing. 
Vast  ages  must  elapse  before  it  is  reached  even  in  its  simplest  form. 
And  yet  the  men  of  that  time  knew  their  own  wants  and  possessed 
much  intelligence  of  ways  of  satisfying  them.  We  need  not  go 
back  to  savage  times  to  find  this  difference  between  egoistic  and 
altruistic  reason.  We  see  it  constantly  in  members  of  civilized 
society  who  are  capable  of  murdering  innocent  persons  for  a  few 
dollars  with  which  they  expect  to  gratify  a  passion  or  satisfy  some 
personal  want.  It  is  true  in  this  sense  that  the  criminal  is  a  sur- 
vival from  savagery.  Civilization  may,  indeed,  be  measured  by  the 
capacity  of  men  for  suffering  representative  pain  and  their  efforts  to 
relieve  it. 

In  our  long  and  somewhat  dreary  journey  down  the  stream  of 
time  we  have  now  reached  the  darkest  spot,  and  fain  would  I 
omit  its  description  were  this  not  to  leave  a  blank  in  the  story  and 
to  drop  out  an  essential  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  for  the  gynaeco- 
centric  theory.  But  in  recording  this  history  I  prefer  in  the  main 
to  let  others  speak.  And  first  let  us  hear  Herbert  Spencer.  This  is 
what  he  says :  — 


CH.  xiv]  THE   SUBJECTION   OF   WOMAN  347 

In  the  history  of  humanity  as  written,  the  saddest  part  concerns  the 
treatment  of  women ;  and  had  we  before  us  its  unwritten  history  we  should 
find  this  part  still  sadder.  I  say  the  saddest  part  because,  though  there 
have  been  many  things  more  conspicuously  dreadful  —  cannabalism,  the 
torturings  of  prisoners,  the  sacrificings  of  victims  to  ghosts  and  gods  — 
these  have  been  but  occasional;  whereas  the  brutal  treatment  of  woman 
has  been  universal  and  constant.  If,  looking  first  at  their  state  of  subjec- 
tion among  the  semi-civilized,  we  pass  to  the  uncivilized,  and  observe  the 
lives  of  hardship  borne  by  nearly  all  of  them  —  if  we  then  think  what  must 
have  gone  on  among  those  still  ruder  peoples  who,  for  so  many  thousands  of 
years,  roamed  over  the  uncultivated  Earth ;  we  shall  infer  that  the  amount 
of  suffering  which  has  been,  and  is,  borne  by  women,  is  utterly  beyond 
imagination.  .  .  .  Utter  absence  of  sympathy  made  it  inevitable  that 
women  should  suffer  from  the  egoism  of  men,  without  any  limit  save  their 
ability  to  bear  the  entailed  hardships.  Passing  this  limit,  the  ill-treatment, 
by  rendering  the  women  incapable  of  rearing  a  due  number  of  children, 
brought  about  disappearance  of  the  tribe  ;  and  we  may  safely  assume  that 
multitudes  of  tribes  disappeared  from  this  cause :  leaving  behind  those  in 
which  the  ill-treatment  was  less  extreme.1 

The  general  fidelity  of  this  picture  cannot  be  questioned,  but,  in 
the  light  of  all  that  has  been  said  thus  far,  I  must  protest  against 
the  term  "  brutal "  as  characterizing  the  treatment  of  woman  by 
man.  Far  too  many  human  sins  are  attributed  to  the  brute  that 
still  lurks  in  man,  but  in  this  case  it  is  flagrantly  unjust  to  do  this, 
since,  as  has  been  seen,  no  male  brute  maltreats  the  female,  and  the 
abuse  of  females  by  males  is  an  exclusively  human  virtue. 

In  the  second  place,  I  think  Spencer's  picture  a  little  too  dark  in 
assuming  that  this  state  of  things  must  have  been  progressively 
worse  as  we  recede  from  the  present  toward  the  past.  It  may  have 
been  worse  in  some  races  at  an  earlier  date,  and  no  doubt  in  all  it 
has  been  bad  for  a  very  long  period,  but  if  any  race  could  be  traced 
back  far  enough  we  should  find  it  in  its  gynaecocratic  stage  when  the 
women  were  not  only  well  treated,  but  themselves  meted  out  justice 
to  the  men.  All  the  cases  enumerated  in  the  last  section  are  more 
or  less  modified  survivals  of  that  stage. 

That  the  abuse  of  women  by  men  is  due  in  the  main  to  the  feeble  de- 
velopment of  sympathy  is  well  stated  by  Spencer  in  an  earlier  work :  — 

The  status  of  women  among  any  people,  and  the  habitual  behavior  to 
them,  indicate  with  approximate  truth,  the  average  power  of  the  altruistic 
sentiments ;  and  the  indication  thus  yielded  tells  against  the  character  of 
the  primitive  man.  Often  the  actions  of  the  stronger  sex  to  the  weaker 

i  "  Principles  of  Ethics,"  New  York,  1893,  Vol.  II,  pp.  335,  336  (§  428). 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

among  the  uncivilized  are  brutal ;  generally  the  weaker  are  treated  as  mere 
belongings,  without  any  regard  for  their  personal  claims ;  and  even  at  best 
the  conduct  towards  them  is  unsympathetic.  That  this  slavery,  often 
joined  with  cruelty,  and  always  with  indignity,  should  be  the  normal  condi- 
tion among  savages,  accepted  as  right  not  by  men  only  but  by  women  them- 
selves, proves  that  whatever  occasional  displays  of  altruism  there  may  be, 
the  ordinary  flow  of  altruistic  feeling  is  small.1 

To  practically  the  same  effect  Letourneau  remarks :  — 
In  the  human  brain  ideas  of  right  and  justice,  the  sentiment  of  respect 
for  the  weak,  are  fruits  of  a  high  culture,  unknown  to  primitive  civilizations 
in  which  man,  realizing  certain  conceptions  of  Greek  mythology,  is  still  more 
than  half  beast.  Now,  throughout  the  world  woman  has  the  misfortune  to 
be  less  strong  than  her  companion;  we  must  then  expect  to  find  her  lot 
harder  in  proportion  as  the  society  of  which  she  forms  a  part  is  more  rudi- 
mentary. The  condition  of  women  may  even  furnish  a  good  criterion  of  the 
degree  of  development  of  a  people.2 

The  great  length  that  this  chapter  is  assuming  will  almost  compel 
me  to  limit  myself  to  giving  a  few  of  these  general  statements,  but 
they  are  found  either  at  the  beginning  or  the  end  of  long  recitals  of 
facts  observed  and  recorded  of  great  numbers  of  tribes  in  all  parts 
of  the  world.  Any  attempt  to  enumerate  these  facts  would  carry 
me  much  too  far.  I  will,  therefore,  offer  only  a  few  of  the  briefer 
accounts,  which  may  be  taken  as  illustrating  the  subjection  of 
woman  in  the  stage  of  androcracy,  which  is  that  in  which  we  now 
find  most  of  the  lower  savages.  Thus  Lubbock  says,  quoting  in 
part  from  Eyre :  — 

In  Australia  "  little  real  affection  exists  between  husbands  and  wives,  and 
young  men  value  a  wife  principally  for  her  services  as  a  slave  ;  in  fact,  when 
asked  why  they  are  anxious  to  obtain  wives,  their  usual  reply  is,  that  they 
may  get  wood,  water,  and  food  for  them,  and  carry  whatever  property  they 
possess."  The  position  of  women  in  Australia  seems  indeed  to  be  wretched 
in  the  extreme.  They  are  treated  with  the  utmost  brutality,  beaten  and 
speared  in  the  limbs  on  the  most  trivial  provocation.  "  Few  women,"  says 
Eyre,  "  will  be  found,  upon  examination,  to  be  free  from  frightful  scars  upon 
the  head,  or  the  marks  of  spear- wounds  about  the  body.  I  have  seen  a 
young  woman  who,  from  the  number  of  these  marks,  appeared  to  have  been 
almost  riddled  with  spear  wounds."  If  at  all  good-looking  their  position  is, 
if  possible,  even  worse  than  otherwise.8 

1  "Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1877,  p.  78  (§  37). 

2  "  La  Sociologie  d'apres  1'Ethnographie,"  3e  ed.,  Paris,  1892,  p.  168. 

8  "  Origin  of  Civilization,"  New  York,  1871,  p.  52.  Cf .  Edward  John  Eyre,  "  Jour- 
nals of  Expeditions  of  Discovery  into  Central  Australia  and  Overland  from  Adelaide 
to  King  George's  Sound,  in  the  Years  1840-1."  London,  1845.  Two  volumes,  8'". 
Vol.  II,  pp.  321,  322. 


CH.  xiv]  THE   SUBJECTION   OF   WOMAN  349 

Du  Chaillu  describes  two  distressing  cases  of  the  apparently  wanton 
torture  of  women  in  Central  Africa,1  one  of  which  he  succeeded  in 
relieving.  He  intimates  that  this  practice  of  torturing  women  was 
connected  with  some  detestable  superstition  among  the  natives  by 
which  women  were  suspected  of  sorcery  and  witchcraft.  But  how 
much  better  were  the  people  of  Europe,  and  even  of  America,  in  this 
respect,  down  to  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century  ? 

"Among  the  Kaffirs,"  says  Spencer,  quoting  Shooter,  "besides 
her  domestic  duties,  the  woman  has  to  perform  all  the  hard  work ; 
she  is  her  husband's  ox,  as  a  Kaffir  once  said  to  me,  —  she  had  been 
bought,  he  argued,  and  must  therefore  labor."  2 

The  complete  slavery  of  woman  to  man  is  shown  by  the  follow- 
ing :  "  Of  a  Malagasy  chief  Drury  says  — '  he  had  scarcely  seated 
himself  at  his  door,  when  his  wife  came  out  crawling  on  her  hands 
and  knees  till  she  came  to  him,  and  then  licked  his  feet  ...  all  the 
women  in  the  town  saluted  their  husbands  in  the  same  manner.' "  3 
"  Almost  everywhere  in  Africa,"  says  Letourneau,  "  woman  is  the 
property  (chose)  of  her  husband,  who  has  the  right  to  use  her  as  a 
beast  of  burden,  and  almost  always  makes  her  work  as  he  does  his 
oxen." 4  "  In  certain  Himalayan  regions  near  the  sources  of  the 
Djemnah  in  Nepaul,  etc.,  the  Aryan  Hindoos  have  adopted  Thi- 
betan polyandry.  The  women  are  for  them  a  veritable  merchandise 
which  they  buy  and  sell.  At  the  time  of  which  Fraser  writes  a 
woman  among  the  peasants  cost  from  10  to  12  rupees,  a  sum  which 
it  was  pleasant  to  receive  but  painful  to  expend.  They  also  freely 
sold  their  daughters,  and  the  brothers  of  each  family  bought  a  com- 
mon wife,  whom  they  rented  without  hesitation  to  strangers." 5 

That  the  subjection  of  woman  was  due  entirely  to  her  physical  in- 
feriority to  man,  or  rather  to  that  superior  size  and  strength  which 
men  had  acquired  in  common  with  most  of  the  other  higher  animals 
through  female  selection,  seems  beyond  controversy,  the  tendency  to 
deny  and  escape  it  being  inspired  wholly  by  shame  at  admitting  it. 
I  find  the  following  noble  sentiment  in  the  fragments  of  Condorcet : 

1  "Adventures  in  the  Great  Forest  of  Equatorial  Africa  and  the  Country  of  the 
Dwarfs,"  by  Paul  Du  Chaillu,  London,  1861,  Chapter  X,  p.  122  ;  Chapter  XII,  pp. 
157-158. 

2  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  p.  687  (§  305). 
«  Op.  tit.  Vol.  II,  pp.  124-125  (§  386). 

4  "La.  Sociologie  d'apres  1'Ethnographie,"  p.  336. 
6  Op.  cit.,  p.  366. 


350  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Among  the  advances  of  the  human  mind  most  important  for  the  general 
welfare,  we  should  number  the  entire  destruction  of  the  prejudices  which 
have  produced  between  the  sexes  an  inequality  of  rights  injurious  even  to 
the  favored  sex.  In  vain  is  it  sought  to  justify  it  by  differences  in  their 
physical  organization,  in  the  strength  of  their  intellects,  in  their  moral  sen- 
sibilities. This  inequality  has  had  no  other  origin  than  the  abuse  of  power, 
and  it  is  in  vain  that  men  have  since  sought  to  excuse  it  by  sophisms.1 

Darwin  says:  "Man  is  more  powerful  in  body  and  mind  than 
woman,  and  in  the  savage  state  he  keeps  her  in  a  far  more  abject  state 
of  bondage  than  does  the  male  of  any  other  animal ;  " 2  and  Spencer  re- 
marks :  "  Without  implying  that  savage  men  are  morally  inferior  to 
savage  women  (the  last  show  just  as  much  cruelty  as  the  first  where 
opportunity  allows),  it  is  clear  that  among  people  who  are  selfish  in 
extreme  degrees  the  stronger  will  ill-treat  the  weaker ;  and  that  be- 
sides other  forms  of  ill-treatment  will  be  that  of  imposing  on  them 
all  the  disagreeable  tasks  they  are  able  to  perform." 3  In  New  Zea- 
land, according  to  Moerenhaut,  a  father  or  brother,  in  giving  his 
daughter  or  his  sister  to  her  future  husband,  would  say,  "  If  you 
are  not  satisfied  with  her,  sell  her,  kill  her,  eat  her,  you  are 
absolute  master  of  her."4  "Almost  at  the  origin  of  human  society 
woman  was  subjugated  by  her  companion  ;  we  have  seen  her  become 
in  succession,  beast  of  burden,  slave,  minor,  subject,  held  aloof  from 
a  free  and  active  life,  often  maltreated,  oppressed,  punished  with 
fury  for  acts  that  her  male  owner  would  commit  with  impunity 
before  her  eyes." 5 

The  whole  difficulty  in  understanding  these  abuses  lies  in  the  fact 
that  civilized  men  cannot  conceive  of  a  state  in  which  no  moral  sen- 
timents exist,  no  sympathy  for  pain,  no  sense  of  justice.  And  yet 
every  day,  in  every  civilized  country  of  the  world,  the  public  press 
informs  us  of  wife  beatings  that  are  scarcely  less  horrid  than  those 
of  savages,  and  these  would  of  course  be  far  more  common  and 
shocking  but  for  the  restraints  of  law  and  police  regulation.  At  the 
stage  in  the  history  of  any  race  at  which  the  transition  from  gynae- 

1  "Tableau  Historique  des  Progres  del'Esprit  Humain,"  Bibliotheque  Positiviste, 
Paris,  1900,  pp.  180-181. 

2  "  Descent  of  Man,"  Vol.  II,  p.  355. 

3  "  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  Ill,  p.  343  (§  730). 

4  "  Voyages  aux  Isles  du  Grand  Ocean,"  par  ,1.  A.  Moerenhaut,  Paris,  1837,  Vol.  II, 
p.  69.     These  are  the  closing  words  of  a  set  speech  delivering  the  woman  to  the  man, 
which  may  not  be  varied,  and  which  corresponds  to  that  of  a  modern  marriage 
ceremony. 

6  Letourneau,  Rev.  Ecole  d'Anthrop.  de  Paris,  Vol.  IX,  p.  288. 


CH.  xiv]  THE   FAMILY  351 

cocracy  to  androcracy  took  place,  and  for  a  long  period  afterward,  all 
men  were  morally  below  the  level  of  the  basest  wife-beater  of  modern 
society,  at  a  state  in  which  the  first  spark  of  sympathy  for  suffering 
in  others  had  not  yet  been  kindled.  It  was  this  manner  of  man, 
just  coming  to  consciousness  through  the  dawn  of  a  purely  egoistic 
intellect,  who,  suddenly  as  it  were,  discovered  that  the  physically 
inferior  being  who  had,  without  his  knowledge,  endowed  him  with 
his  superiority,  was  in  his  power  and  could  be  made  to  serve  him. 
Hence  the  subjection  of  woman. 

TJie  Family.  —  It  is  customary  to  speak  of  the  family  with  the 
most  unreserved  respect.  Comte,  who  knew  scarce  anything  of 
primitive  man,  and  whose  own  family  affairs  were  wretched  in  the 
extreme,  made  it  the  unit  and  the  bulwark  of  society.  In  this  he 
has  been  followed  by  many  sociologists,  and  most  of  those  who  pre- 
fer some  other  social  unit  still  hold  the  family  to  be  an  essential  if 
not  a  sacred  institution.  But  Comte  was  aware  that  the  word  family 
originally  meant  the  servants  or  slaves.1  The  philologists  have 
traced  it  back  to  the  Oscan  word/awieZ  from  which  the  Latin  famu- 
lus, slave,  also  proceeds,  but  whether  all  these  terms  have  the  same 
root  as  fames,  hunger,  signifying  dependence  for  subsistence,  is  not 
certain.  It  is  true,  however,  that  familia  was  only  rarely  and  not 
classically  used  by  the  Eomans  in  the  sense  of  the  modern  word 
family,  i.e.,  as  including  parents  and  children.  For  this  domus  was 
usually  employed.  But  perhaps  etymology  signifies  little  in  the 
present  case. 

The  important  thing  is  to  gain  something  like  a  just  conception  of 
what  the  primitive  family  was.  Under  the  regime  of  gynsecocracy  j 
there  could  of  course  be  no  proper  family.  The  father  was  unknown 
and  the  mother  cared  for  her  children  in  obedience  to  an  instinct 
common  certainly  to  all  mammals  and  birds  and  probably  to  many 
lower  vertebrates.  With  the  beginning  of  the  regime  of  androcracy 
the  women  were  enslaved  and  both  women  and  children  became  the 
chattels  of  the  men.  The  men  still  continued  to  fight  for  the 
women,  but  instead  of  thereby  seeking  to  secure  their  favor  and 
to  become  the  chosen  ones,  they  fought  for  their  possession  and 
seized  each  as  many  women  as  possible.  The  weaker  men  were,  as 
before,  condemned  to  celibacy,  and  the  women  were  subject  to  a  mo- 
nopoly of  the  strong.  This  polygamous  life  made  paternity  practi- 
l "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  II,  p.  201. 


352  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PAUT  n 

cally  certain,  and  led  direct  to  the  patriarchate  or  patriarchal  family. 
Brain  development,  among  its  other  effects,  led  to  the  invention  of 
artifices  and  devices  for  catching  game  and  fish,  and  of  weapons  for 
more  effectually  combating  rivals,  who  were  now  often  killed  and 
eaten,  the  distinction  between  war  and  the  chase  having  as  yet 
scarcely  arisen.  The  primitive  androcratic  society  was  thus  formed 
of  patriarchal  polygamous  families  and  celibate  men,  the  weaker  of 
whom  may  have  been  also  made  slaves.  All  women  were  abject 
slaves,  and  the  children  were  compelled  to  do  any  service  of  which 
they  were  capable.  The  patriarchs  had  absolute  power  over  the  per- 
sons of  all  within  their  families.  Lippert l  holds  that  the  invention, 
of  the  first  implements  and  weapons  produced  a  true  revolution. 
The  chase  becomes  possible,  but  only  for  man  ;  woman,  embarrassed 
by  her  child,  cannot  take  part  in  it.  Man  begins  to  have  need  of  her 
to  carry  his  simple  baggage ;  he  must  therefore  maintain  her  and 
the  children.  Marriage  is  from  the  beginning  an  association  dictated 
by  economic  needs.  Man,  devoting  himself  to  the  chase,  becomes 
little  by  little  physically  superior  to  woman,  and  so  becomes  her 
master.  Of  course  Lippert  had  no  idea  of  the  real  causes  that  pro- 
duced man's  physical  superiority  to  woman,  but  this  passage  is  as 
clear  a  picture  of  the  actual  transition  as  I  find  in  the  writings  of 
anthropologists,  most  of  whom,  strange  to  say,  have  scarcely  any 
biological  equipment  for  their  work. 

Katzenhofer  portrays  the  primitive  family  in  the  following  terms : 

The  need  of  authority  in  this  group  makes  the  father  its  head,  and  from 
this  arises  a  new  social  phenomenon,  the  family,  as  the  union  of  both  sexes 
with  their  children  under  the  leadership  of  one  part,  with  the  moral  duty  of 
mutual  protection  and  sustentation.  The  headship  of  the  father  (excep- 
tionally in  a  few  peoples  of  the  mother)  is  the  fundamental  condition  of  the 
family.  Although  in  the  horde  with  peaceful  relations  between  man  and 
wife  a  sort  of  marital  relation  may  have  existed,  still  this  only  acquired  per- 
manence' through  dominion  and  subjection  in  the  family;  only  through 
these  was  an  indissoluble  marriage  made  to  conform  to  the  innate  interests 
of  men.  But  as  the  family  bond  of  the  community  has  an  economic  basis 
(Veranlassung)  it  lowers  (verschlechtert)  in  general  the  position  of  women 
and  children,  sometimes  also  that  of  the  parents;  the  stronger  father  reduces 
wife  and  children  to  the  condition  of  workers  for  him,  while  he  is  supported 
and  eventually  devotes  himself  only  to  the  chase  or  to  combating  wild  ani- 
mals. It  may  be  said  that  this  condition  of  wife  and  children  is  the  most 

1  "  KulturgeschSchte  der  Menschheit  in  ihrem  organischen  Aufbau,"  von  Julius 
Lippert,  Stuttgart,  1887.  Zwei  Biinde,  Band  I,  pp.  64  ff. 


CH.  xiv]  MARRIAGE  353 

widespread  of  social  phenomena.  Not  only  do  all  culture  peoples  who 
have  developed  the  family  from  the  community  or  the  tribe  show  from  that 
time  to  the  present  this  economic  state  of  things,  but  primitive  tribes  have 
gradually  brought  about  the  enslavement  of  woman,  and  without  the  aid  of 
other  social  influences,  have  transferred  the  labor  to  the  wife.  Not  only  the 
wife  of  the  negro,  the  Hindu,  and  the  Kirghis,  but  also  the  wife  of  the  pres- 
ent Slav  of  the  Balkan  peninsula  and  of  Russia,  is  the  misused  slave  of  her 
husband,  and  as  the  result  of  the  effort  to  escape  labor,  we  see  the  unwhole- 
some interchange  of  wife  and  child  labor  in  the  West  European  factories, 
which  would  make  greater  gains  from  the  laborer  at  the  expense  of  wife  and 
child,  while  at  the  same  time  they  lower  their  wages.1 

And  in  another  place  he  remarks :  — 

Whether  a  man  subjects  one  or  several  women  to  himself  and  treats  the 
children  as  an  addition  to  their  working  capacity,  or  whether  a  patriarchal 
community  under  the  leadership  of  the  oldest  father  devotes  itself  to  similar 
economic  ends,  or  whether  several  men  appropriate  one  woman  with  a  com- 
mon economic  object,  or  whether  finally  the  monogamic  family  prevails 
through  the  honored  relation  of  one  man  to  one  woman  —  it  remains  the 
same,  the  family  is  in  all  its  forms  an  economic  arrangement  on  the  basis  of 
the  sex  relation.2 

It  thus  appears  that,  whatever  the  family  may  be  to-day  in  civilized 
lands,  in  its  origin  it  was  simply  an  institution  for  the  more  com- 
plete subjugation  and  enslavement  of  women  and  children,  for  the 
subversion  of  nature's  method  in  which  the  mother  is  the  queen, 
dictates  who  shall  be  fathers,  and  guards  her  offspring  by  the  instinct 
of  maternal  affection  planted  in  her  for  that  express  purpose.  The  prim- 
itive family  was  an  unnatural  androcratic  excrescence  upon  society. 

Marriage.  —  We  have  now  to  invade  another  "  sanctuary  "  only  to 
find  it,  like  the  last,  a  "whited  sepulcher."  It  may  look  like  a 
strange  inversion  of  the  natural  order  of  things  to  place  marriage 
after  the  family,  but  if  the  promiscuous  intercourse  of  the  sexes  that 
characterized  the  gynaecocratic  stage  cannot  be  properly  called  mar- 
riage, scarcely  more  can  that  stage  be  so  called  in  which  the  men 
forcibly  seize  the  women  and  make  them  their  slaves  and  concubines 
without  ceremony  or  pretence  of  consulting  their  will.  The  original 
patriarchal  family  implies  marriage  only  in  the  sense  that  it  is  im- 
plied in  a  harem  of  seals  on  a  rookery  under  the  dominion  of  an 
old  bull.  Less  so,  in  fact,  for,  although  we  are  told  that  the  bull 
does  sometimes  gently  bite  his  refractory  cows,  he  never  abuses  or 

1  "  Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  pp.  142-143. 

2  Ibid.,  pp.  230-231. 


354  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

injures  them,  much  less  kills  and  eats  them.  That  function  is  re- 
served for  the  "  lord  of  creation,"  the  only  being  endowed  with  a 
"  moral  sense,"  made  "  in  the  image  of  his  Creator,"  and  often  after 
his  death  erected  by  his  descendants  into  a  god.  Indeed,  most  gods 
are  themselves  accredited  with  these  sublime  attributes  ! 

The  word  marriage  in  the  English  language  has  three  mean- 
ings, viz. :  1,  the  mutual  voluntary  union  of  a  man  and  a  woman ; 

2,  the  act  of  union  of  a  man  to  a  woman,  or  of  a  woman  to  a  man ; 

3,  the  causing  of  a  woman  to  unite  with  a  man.     The  first  of  these 
is  a  neuter  or  "  middle  "  sense,  and  the  corresponding  verb  is  reflec- 
tive in  most  other  languages.     The  other  two  meanings  are  active, 
the  second  having  an  entirely  different  verb  in  the  Komance  lan- 
guages (epouser,  etc.).     The  third  is  active  and  transitive,  and  is 
little  used,  being  more  commonly  expressed  by  the  phrase  "  giving 
in   marriage."     Even  this  is  now   more  or  less  a  matter  of  form. 
These  uses  of  the  word  marriage  represent  an  evolution,  and  the  first 
meaning  was  the  last  to  be  developed,  and  represents  the  greatest 
mutuality  and  equality  of  the  marrying  parties  that  has  been  at- 
tained.    The  second  at  first  chiefly  applied  to  the  man  who  married 
the  woman  without  implying  her  consent,  and  has  only  in  compara- 
tively recent  times  carried  with  it  the  idea  of  a  woman  marrying  a 
man.     The  third,  and  now  nearly  obsolete  meaning,  was  the  only  one 
that  the  word  possessed  throughout  all  the  early  ages  of  human 
development.     The  patriarch  who  owned  all  the  women  disposed 
of  them  as  he  saw  fit.      They  were  looked  upon  by  him  as  so  much 
value,  and  if  the  oxen,  spears,  boats,  or  other  merchandise  offered 
for  a  woman  were  worth  more  to  him  than  the  woman,  he  sold 
her  for  a  price,  and  marriage  consisted  in  nothing  more  than  the 
ratification,  by  whatever  ceremony  might  prevail,  of  the  bargain 
thus  made.     In  selling  a  woman  to  a  man  her  owner  is  said  to  marry 
her  to 'him,  and  such  was  primitive  marriage.     In  later  stages  and 
in  different  tribes  of  course  variations  arose  in  the  nature  of  the 
ceremonies,  and  a  great  variety  of  so-called  forms  of  marriage  has 
been  described,  but  all  of  them  wholly  ignore  the  wishes  of  the 
woman  and  constitute  so  many  different  ways  of  transferring  and 
holding  property  in  women. 

When  the  protosocial  stage  was  passed  and  wars,  conquests,  and 
social  assimilation  had  begun,  the  women  of  the  conquered  races  be- 
came the  slaves  of  the  conquerors,  and  ultimately  the  warriors  also 


CH.  xiv]  MARRIAGE  355 

and  many  of  the  other  men.  Then  commenced  the  period  of  univer- 
sal slavery  with  the  qualifications  set  forth  in  Chapter  X.  The 
system  of  caste  was  no  doubt  favorable  to  woman,  since  those  of  the 
noble  classes,  whatever  their  relations  to  the  men  of  those  classes, 
were  on  a  higher  plane  than  those  of  the  lower  classes.  The  patri- 
archal system  was  strengthened  rather  than  weakened  by  social 
assimilation,  and  the  principal  effect  it  had  upon  marriage  was 
to  diversify  forms  and,  along  with  its  other  socializing  influences, 
somewhat  to  mitigate  the  rigor  of  woman  slavery.  Polygamy  pre- 
vailed, and  with  the  establishment  of  a  leisure  class  it  was  greatly 
strengthened,  the  nobility  and  ruling  class  being  secured  in  the  pos- 
session of  as  many  wives  as  they  desired.  The  enslavement  of  men 
was  some  relief  to  women  from  drudgery,  and  harems  were  estab- 
lished in  which  the  handsomest  women  were  kept  without  labor  and 
always  fresh  for  breeding  purposes  and  to  satisfy  men's  lusts. 

Among  the  lower  classes,  and  especially  in  the  large  middle  class 
that  were  neither  slaves  nor  nobles,  which  carried  on  the  principal 
industrial  operations  of  the  now  developing  state  and  people,  mar- 
riage took  more  rational  forms,  becoming,  from  considerations  of 
enforced  justice,  more  frequently  monogamic,  and,  as  was  shown, 
resulting  in  the  complete  mixture  of  the  blood  of  the  two  races. 
With  the  origin  of  the  state  and  the  establishment  of  more  and  more 
complete  codes  of  law,  marriage  was  legalized  and  regulated  and 
became  more  and  more  a  human  institution.  But  when  we  see  how 
little  advanced  marriage  was  in  Greece  and  Rome  during  ,what  we 
call  "  antiquity,"  we  may  easily  imagine  what  it  must  have  been  at 
an  earlier  date  and  "among  more  backward  races.  In  Homer's  day 
the  distinction  between  the  first  or  real  wife,  presumably  the  one 
who  belonged  to  the  noble  caste,  and  the  concubines,  probably  for  the 
most  part  from  the  lower  caste,  was  clearly  drawn. 

The  characteristic  feature  of  Homeric  marriage-preliminaries,  in  perfect 
consonance  with  the  patriarchal  mode,  is  wife-purchase.  "  Women,"  i.e., 
concubines,  had  values  set  upon  them,  were  given  as  prizes  and  bought  like 
cattle ;  they  were  mere  slaves  and  treated  as  such.  A  wife,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  regularly  sought  with  gifts,  that  is,  was  bought  in  a  more  formal 
and  distinctive  way.  .  .  .  The  father's  power  was  very  great ;  to  him  the 
daughter  belonged,  and  he  promised  and  married  her  with  no  thought  of  her 
own  feeling  in  the  matter.1 

1 "  Homeric  Society.  A  Sociological  Study  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,"  by  Albert 
Galloway  Keller,  New  York,  1902,  pp.  212,  214. 


356  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  11 

Letourneau  says :  — 

In  the  first  ages  of  Rome  the  wife  formed  part  of  the  family  of  her  hus- 
band only  in  the  quality  of  a  slave.  .  .  .  She  was  owned  like  any  chattel, 
for  the  virtuous  Cato  lent  his  wife  Marcia  to  his  friend  Hortensius  and  took 
her  back  on  the  death  of  that  friend.  The  Roman  husband  had  the  right 
to  beat  his  wife ;  for,  according  to  the  expression  of  Monica,  Saint  Augus- 
tine's mother,  Roman  marriage  was  only  a  "  contract  of  servitude."  The 
wife  was  for  a  long  time  purchased,  and  marriage  per  coemptionem  always 
existed.  If  the  betrothed  was  of  patrician  race,  the  sale  was  disguised  by 
the  ceremony  of  confarreatio,  consisting  in  partaking  with  the  future  hus- 
band, before  ten  witnesses,  of  a  cake  given  by  the  priest  of  Jupiter.  For  at 
Rome  marriage,  the  justes  noces,  long  the  sole  privilege  of  patricians,  re- 
quired religious  consecration.  But  once  married  by  coemption  or  confarrea- 
tion,  the  woman  belonged  to  her  husband,  body  and  goods ;  she  was  "  in  his 
hands."  1 

It  would  be  hopeless  to  attempt  to  enumerate  all  the  multitudi- 
nous forms  of  marriage,  but  down  to  comparatively  modern  times 
they  all  have  one  thing  in  common,  viz.,  the  proprietorship  of  the 
husband  in  the  wife.  So  slow  has  the  idea  of  the  wife  being  a  slave 
of  her  husband  been  in  disappearing  that  the  word  "obey"  still 
remains  in  the  marriage  ceremony  of  all  countries,  and  is  only 
stricken  out  by  a  few  emancipated  people  or  liberal  sects. 

Almost  from  the  beginning  there  existed  a  sort  of  "  ceremonial 
government,"  growing  more  and  more  "  ecclesiastical,"  i.e.,  acquiring 
more  and  more  a  religious  character,  and  by  this  the  relations  of  the 
sexes  were  greatly  modified.  This  was  what  I  have  called  the  group 
sentiment  of  safety.  Its  action  was  not  moral  in  the  sense  of  mitiga- 
ting the  abuse  of  women  by  men ;  it  was  moral  only  in  the  sense  of 
imposing  restraints  upon  tendencies  injurious  6r  destructive  to  the 
race.  Among  other  such  influences  the  ones  that  chiefly  concern  us 
here  were  those  that  worked  for  the  maintenance  of  race  vigor  and 
the  p^vention  of  degeneracy.  Nature,  as  has  been  seen,  constantly 
strives  to  keep  up  the  difference  of  potential,  and  the  origin  of  sex 
was  one  of  the  most  effective  of  all  devices  for  this  purpose.  Noth- 
ing further  seemed  to  be  required  in  the  animal  world  except  to  avoid 
hermaphroditism  and  secure  bisexuality.  But  among  men  forming 
themselves  into  kinship  groups,  the  tendency  to  interbreed  too 
closely  was  strong,  and  required  to  be  checked.  The  collective  wis- 
dom, or  instinct,  if  any  one  prefers,  perceived  this,  and  offset  it  in  a 

1  Letourneau,  "  La  Sociologie  d'apres  1'Ethnographie,  "  p.  371.  Cf .  De  Greef,  "  In- 
troduction a  la  Sociologie,"  Pt.  II,  1889,  pp.  136-140. 


CH.  xiv]  MARRIAGE  357 

number  of  ways.  In  the  protosocial  stage  this  was  accomplished 
chiefly  through  exogamy,  which,  as  is  well  known,  widely  prevails, 
and  although  showing  considerable  variation,  consists  essentially  in 
the  crossing  of  clans.  In  many  tribes  marriage  within  the  clan  is 
severely  punished,  often  with  death.  The  era  of  war,  conquest,  and 
race  amalgamation  inaugurated  a  system  of  cross  fertilization  on  a 
large  scale,  and  this  was  adequately  treated  in  Chapter  XI.  But  one 
of  the  principal  consequences  that  followed  was  the  introduction  of 
a  system  of  marriage  by  rape,  in  which  whole  races  engaged,  and 
women  were  sought  in  war  as  trophies,  and  were  captured  for  wives, 
thus  effectively  crossing  the  different  stocks,  and  greatly  strengthen- 
ing the  physical  and  mental  constitution  of  the  races  involved.  Mar- 
riage by  capture  thus  became  a  system  and  was  real  for  ages  and 
over  large  parts  of  the  earth.  But  with  the  increase  and  spread  of 
population  and  the  formation  of  states  and  peoples  it  gradually  lost 
its  serious  character  and  was  reduced  to  a  mass  of  fictions  and 
conventional  symbolizations.  Survivals  of  it  persisted  far  down 
into  the  historic  period,  and  some  still  exist.  There  seems  no 
doubt  that  the  "  wedding  tour  "  is  a  survival  of  the  marriage  flight 
following  wife-capture,  made  to  escape  the  fury  of  the  wife's 
relatives,  while  the  charivari  or  "  horning  "  typifies  the  attack  of 
the  members  of  the  wife's  clan  upon  the  pair,  who  seek  to  conceal 
themselves. 

Ethnographers  and  historians  all  tell  us  that  polygamy,  meaning 
polygyny,  or  a  plurality  of  wives,  prevails  and  has  prevailed  in 
nearly  all  parts  of  the  world  and  throughout  all  time.  No  doubt  it 
has  been  the  accepted  form,  but  the  substantial  numerical  equality 
of  the  sexes  requires  the  assumption  of  a  large  amount  of  accom- 
panying male  celibacy.  Wherever  the  facts  have  been  ascertained 
no  prevalent  form  of  marriage  has  been  able  to  prevent  the  coexist- 
ence with  it  of  a  widespread  system  of  promiscuity.  In  civilized 
countries  this  is  called  prostitution,  and  by  making  it  illegal  without 
being  able  to  suppress  it,  it  has  been  rendered  base  and  dangerous  to 
the  public  health.  But  if  all  countries  are  studied  it  is  found  that 
from  this  quasi-criminal  character  it  shades  off  more  and  more  into 
a  recognized  form,  if  not  of  marriage  at  least  of  sexual  union,  and 
that  it  becomes  natural  and  harmless  in  proportion  as  it  is  more 
fully  tolerated  and  recognized.  It  is  certain  that  monogamy  does 
not  lead  to  its  abolition,  and  polygamists  insist  that  their  system  is 


358  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

less  favorable  to  it  than  monogamy.1  As  in  civilized  countries  this 
form  of  marriage  is  not  allowed  to  result  in  propagation  it  becomes 
a  case  of  the  complete  triumph  of  feeling  over  function,  and  in  which 
feeling  is  the  sole  end,  and  is  sought  for  its  own  sake.  The  high 
group  morality,  expressing  itself  largely  through  religion,  therefore 
condemns  it.  If  function  were  the  sole  end,  and  feeling  had  no 
right  to  exist  as  an  end,  this  condemnation  would  be  altogether  just. 
But  even  this  sterile  form  of  marriage  may,  from  a  wider  standpoint, 
be  compared  with  the  wholesale  destruction  of  germs  going  on  in 
nature.  The  phylogenetic  forces  as  such  are  irrepressible,  but  there 
must  be  a  limit  to  multiplication,  and  this  may  be  looked  upon  as 
one  of  the  ways  of  preventing  undue  multiplication  while  at  the 
same  time  permitting  the  action  of  the  reproductive  forces. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  marriage  has  accomplished  its  purpose, 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  is  not  exclusively  the  producing  and  protecting 
of  offspring  and  consequent  continuation  of  the  race,  although  this  of 
course  is  its  chief  function,  but  which  is  also,  to  a  large  extent  quali- 
tative, and  secures  a  degree  of  variation,  crossing,  and  mixing,  com- 
patible with  the  prevention  of  stagnation  and  degeneracy  and  with 
the  maintenance  and  increase  of  race  vigor  and  of  those  physical 
and  psychic  qualities  that  have  contributed  to  make  the  human  race 
what  we  find  it  at  its  best. 

We  have  seen  that  at  a  certain  stage  rape  was  a  form  of  marriage, 
and  that  it  was  based  on  the  unconscious  but  universal  sense  of  the 
advantage  of  crossing  strains,  which  is  reenforced  by  the  charm  of 
sexual  novelty,  both  of  which  motives  are  equally  products  of  the 
biological  imperative.  It  will  be  interesting  to  trace  the  influence 
of  these  early  principles  into  later  stages  of  society  where  rape  has 
become  a  crime.  The  philosophy  of  rape  as  an  ethnological  phe- 
nomenon may  be  briefly  summed  up  under  the  following  heads  :  — 

!In  Utah  it  is  exclusively  confined  to  the  "  gentiles."  In  all  countries  it  is  almost 
wholly  due  to  the  economic  dependenceof  women.  Wiuiarsky  justly  remarks  (L'i-ruf 
Philosophique,  25"  Annee,  mars,  1900,  p.  276)  that  "  in  regard  to  prostitution  we  have 
to  do  with  a  regular  market,  recognized  for  the  most  part  by  states,  in  which  the 
supply  of  and  demand  for  virtue  exist  and  in  which  prices  fix  themselves  according 
to  the  laws  of  economic  mechanics."  What  would  happen  if  women  should  acquire 
economic  independence  it  may  be  difficult  to  predict,  but  it  is  easy  to  see  that  pros- 
titution would  practically  cease.  It  would  seem  that  there  would  then  exist  a  demand 
without  a  supply,  but  in  practice  there  would  only  remain  the  general  fact  that  the 
sexes  demand  each  other,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  would  find  ways  of 
supplying  this  mutual  demand.  It  could  scarcely  fail  to  produce  a  profound  revolu- 
tion in  marriage  institutions. 


en.  xiv]  MARRIAGE  359 

1.  The  women  of  any  race  will  freely  accept  the  men  of  a  race 
which  they  regard  as  higher  than  their  own. 

2.  The  women  of  any  race  will  vehemently  reject  the  men  of  a 
race  which  they  regard  as  lower  than  their  own. 

3.  The  men  of  any  race  will  greatly  prefer  the  women  of  a  race 
which  they  regard  as  higher  than  their  own. 

These  are  fundamental  and  universal  principles  of  ethnology,  and 
when  closely  analyzed  they  will  be  seen  to  be  all  the  result  of  the 
more  general  principle  which  makes  for  race  improvement.  When 
a  woman  of  an  inferior  race  yields  to  a  man  of  a  superior  race  there 
is  a  subconscious  motive  probably  more  powerful  than  physical  pas- 
sion, which  is,  indeed,  the  inspirer  of  the  physical  passion  itself  — 
the  command  of  nature  to  elevate  her  race.  When  a  woman  of  a 
superior  race  rejects  and  spurns  the  man  of  an  inferior  race  it  is 
from  a  profound  though  unreasoned  feeling  that  to  accept  him 
would  do  something  more  than  to  disgrace  her,  that  it  would  to  that 
extent  lower  the  race  to  which  she  belongs.  And  when  the  man  of 
an  inferior  race  strives  to  perpetuate  his  existence  through  a  woman 
of  a  superior  race,  it  is  something  more  than  mere  bestial  lust  that 
drives  him  to  such  a  dangerous  act.  It  is  the  same  unheard  but 
imperious  voice  of  nature  commanding  him  at  the  risk  of  "lynch 
law  "  to  raise  his  race  to  a  little  higher  level. 

In  this  last  case,  therefore,  the  philosophical  student  of  races, 
however  much  he  may  deplore  anything  that  tends  to  lower  a  higher 
race,  sees  reasons  for  partially  excusing  the  "  crime,"  since,  although 
the  perpetrator  does  not  know  it,  it  is  committed  in  large  measure 
under  the  influence  of  the  biological  imperative.  It  may  be  com- 
pared to  the  brave  conduct  of  the  male  mantis  or  male  spider  in  his 
zeal  to  perpetuate  his  race.  On  the  other  hand,  the  indignation  and 
fury  of  the  community  in  which  such  an  act  is  performed  is  to  be 
excused  in  a  measure  for  the  same  reason.  Although  the  enraged 
citizens  who  pursue,  capture,  and  "  lynch  "  the  offender  do  not  know 
any  more  than  their  victim  that  they  are  impelled  to  do  so  by  the 
biological  law  of  race  preservation,  still  it  is  this  unconscious  impera- 
tive, far  more  than  the  supposed  sense  of  outraged  decency,  that 
impels  them  to  the  performance  of  a  much  greater  and  more  savage 
"  crime  "  than  the  poor  wretch  has  committed. 

The  terrible  penalty  attached  to  the  attempt  to  raise  a  lower  race 
by  lowering  a  higher  one  renders  this  form  of  race  mixture  very 


360  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

rare.  Fortunately  perhaps  for  the  human  species  at  large,  there  is 
a  fourth  law,  which  may  be  stated  as  follows :  — 

4.  The  men  of  any  race,  in  default  of  women  of  a  higher  race, 
will  be  content  with  women  of  a  lower  race. 

The  necessary  corollary  to  all  these  laws  is  that  in  the  mixture  of 
races  the  fathers  of  the  mixed  race  almost  always  belong  to  the 
higher  and  the  mothers  to  the  lower  component  race.  What  the 
effect  of  this  is  upon  mankind  at  large  is  matter  for  speculation. 
Whether  the  opposite  would  produce  a  better  or  a  poorer  mixture  is 
not  known.  That  it  would  be  a  very  different  one  there  is  little 
doubt.  The  difference  might  be  compared  to  that  between  a  mule 
and  a  hinny.  At  all  events  the  process  of  race  mixture  that  has 
always  gone  on  and  is  still  going  on  through  the  union  of  men  of 
superior  with  women  of  inferior  races  is  at  least  in  the  nature  of  a 
leveling  up,  and  not  a  leveling  down. 

Male  Sexual  Selection.  —  With  the  earliest  forms  of  social  assimi- 
lation through  conquest  the  lowest  point  seems  to  have  been  reached 
in  the  moral  degradation  of  man.  From  this  point  on  the  ethical  as 
well  as  the  intellectual  curve  gradually  rises,  and  the  horrors  of 
savagery  become  by  degrees  mitigated.  The  esthetic  sense  through 
which  the  female  mind  had  created  the  male  being,  including  man 
as  we  find  him,  was  not  extinguished,  it  was  simply  overwhelmed 
by  the  power  of  the  new-born  egoistic  reason  of  man,  using  the 
strength  acquired  through  female  selection  in  the  subjugation  and 
domination  of  the  innocent  and  unconscious  authoress  of  these  gifts. 
Nor  was  this  esthetic  sense  an  exclusively  female  attribute.  It  is 
an  invariable  concomitant  of  brain  development.  Beauty  is  that 
which  is  agreeable  to  sense,  and  its  effect  is  measured  by  the  develop- 
ment of  the  senses  and  sensory  tracts  of  the  brain.  But  the  esthetic 
sense  is  not  intense.  It  constitutes  an  interest  of  mild  type.  By 
the  side  of  the  sexual  interest  of  the  male  in  animals  and  earliest 
man  it  is  so  feeble  as  scarcely  to  make  itself  felt.  .  The  male  there- 
fore did  not  select  or  exercise  any  choice.  All  females  were  alike 
for  the  male  animal  and  savage.  The  only  selection  that  took  place 
down  to  the  close  of  the  protosocial  stage  was  female  selection.  The 
females  alone  were  sufficiently  free  from  the  violence  of  passion  to 
compare,  deliberate,  and  discriminate.  This  they  did,  and  we  have 
seen  the  result. 

But  with  the  advent  of  the  metasocial  stage  due  to  conquest  and 


CH.  xiv]  MALE  SEXUAL   SELECTION  361 

subjugation,  inaugurating  the  system  of  caste  and  establishing  a 
leisure  class,  brain  development  was  greatly  accelerated  by  cross 
fertilization,  and  for  the  higher  classes  the  primary  sexual  wants 
were  more  than  satisfied  by  universal  polygamy  in  those  classes.  It 
is  a  sociological  law  that  as  the  lower,  more  physical  wants  are  sat- 
isfied the  higher  spiritual  wants  arise.  With  an  unlimited  supply 
of  women  men  began  to  compare  them,  and  their  esthetic  sense  was 
sharpened  to  stimulate  their  sated  physical  sense.  Female  sexual 
selection,  which  for  the  sake  of  brevity  and  precision  may  be  called 
gyneclexis,  had  long  ceased.  The  advent  of  androcracy  and  the 
subjection  of  woman  had  terminated  its  long  and  fruitful  reign,  and 
throughout  the  entire  protosocial  stage  of  man  physical  passion  was 
supreme.  But  now  there  comes  a  calm  in  the  long  stormy  career  of 
man,  and  a  small  number  are  placed  in  a  position  to  allow  the  spirit- 
ual forces  free  play.  In  this  way  male  sexual  selection,  which  may 
be  called  andreclexis?  arose,  and  this  has  since  played  a  considerable 
role  in  the  history  of  the  human  race. 

Darwin  did  not  overlook  the  phenomenon  of  male  sexual  selection. 
He  even  observed  cases  in  the  higher  animals,  and  called  special 
attention  to  the  case  of  man.  The  following  is  his  principal  allusion 
to  the  subject :  — 

There  are,  however,  .exceptional  cases  in  which  the  males,  instead  of  hav- 
ing been  the  selected,  have  been  the  selectors.  We  recognize  such  cases  by 
the  females  having  been  rendered  more  highly  ornamented  than  the  males 
—  their  ornamental  characters  having  been  transmitted  exclusively  or  chiefly 
to  their  female  offspring.  One  such  case  has  been  described  in  the  order  to 
which  man  belongs,  namely,  with  the  Rhesus  monkey.  Man  is  more  power- 
ful in  body  and  mind  than  woman,  .  .  .  therefore  it  is  not  surprising  that 
he  should  have  gained  the  power  of  selection.  Women  are  everywhere  con- 
scious of  the  value  of  their  beauty ;  and  when  they  have  the  means,  they 

1  The  various  kinds  of  selection  play  such  an  important  role  in  modern  dynamic 
biology  that  they  seem  to  demand  a  special  terminology.  The  phrases  "  natural 
selection,"  "  artificial  selection,"  "  sexual  selection,"  etc.,  besides  being  too  long  for 
convenient  use,  are  not  all  free  from  ambiguity.  For  example,  sexual  selection  does 
not  indicate  which  sex  does  the  selecting,  but  it  is  generally  understood  that  by  it 
only  female  selection  is  meant.  To  express  the  opposite  it  is  necessary  to  say,  male 
sexual  selection.  It  should  be  possible  to  designate  each  different  kind  of  selection 
by  a  single  word,  and  I  therefore  propose  the  following  terms  derived  from  the 
Greek  word  «f/cXe£ts,  selection,  and  an  appropriate  first  component  expressing  the 
kind  of  selection :  — 

Geneclexis,  natural  selection ;  teleclexis,  artificial  (intentional)  selection ;  gyn- 
eclexis, female  sexual  selection ;  andreclexis,  male  sexual  selection ;  ampheclexis, 
mutual  sexual  selection,  as  explained  below  (p.  396). 


302  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

take  more  delight  in  decorating  themselves  with  all  sorts  of  ornaments  than 
do  men.  They  borrow  the  plumes  of  male  birds,  with  which  nature  decked 
this  sex  in  order  to  charm  the  females.  As  women  have  long  been  selected  for 
beauty,  it  is  not  surprising  that  some  of  the  successive  variations  should  have 
been  transmitted  in  a  limited  manner  ;  and  consequently  that  women  should 
have  transmitted  their  beauty  in  a  somewhat  higher  degree  to  their  female 
than  to  their  male  offspring.  Hence  women  have  become  more  beautiful,  as 
most  persons  will  admit,  than  men.  Women,  however,  certainly  transmit 
most  of  their  characters,  including  beauty,  to  their  offspring  of  both  sexes ; 
so  that  the  continued  preference  by  the  men  of  each  race  of  the  more  attrac- 
tive women,  according  to  their  standard  of  taste,  would  tend  to  modify  in 
the  same  manner  all  the  individuals  of  both  sexes  belonging  to  the  race.1 

In  the  undeveloped  state  of  male  tastes  the  qualities  preferred  by 
men  are  apt  to  be  mere  monstrosities,  as  in  the  steatopygy  of  the 
Hottentot  women,2  but  even  here  it  proves  the  possibility  of  produc- 
ing secondary  sexual  characters  in  the  female  as  well  as  in  the  male 
by  sexual  selection.  De  Candolle  is  the  only  author  I  have  noted 
who  has  signalized  the  value  of  polygyny  in  securing  female  beauty. 
He  says :  — 

Polygamy  —  which  should  be  called  polygyny — is  a  natural  consequence 
of  the  abuse  of  power.  Along  with  many  bad  effects  it  has  this  advantage 
that  the  population  of  the  wealthy  class  is  physically  improved  by  a  contin- 
ual choice  of  women  endowed  with  beauty  and  with  health'.3 

Although  this  effect  is  chiefly  confined  to  the  leisure  class,  the 
nobility,  and  the  priesthood  where  this  last  is  not  celibate,  and  in 
more  advanced  and  somewhat  industrial  societies,  to  the  wealthy 
classes  generally,  still  in  polygamous  countries  it  must  be  very  great. 
Especially  the  large  seraglios  of  Oriental  Semitic  and  Aryan  peoples 
were  and  still  are  stirpicultural  nurseries  of  female  beauty.  Kings 
and  high  dignitaries  canvass  the  surrounding  countries  for  the  most 
perfectly  developed  women  to  stock  these  seraglios.  Circassian  and 
Caucasian  girls  having  the  pure  white  complexion,  small  hands,  feet, 
and  limbs,  and  perfect  pelvic  and  thoracic  development,  are  among 
those  of  whom  we  read  as  constituting  the  favored  inmates  of  these 
establishments.  If  we  reflect  that  this  process  had  been  going  on 
for  untold  ages,  before  the  time  of  Greek  sculpture,  we  can  readily 
understand  how  the  models  for  the  most  celebrated  statues  may 

1 "  Descent  of  Man  and  Selection  in  Relation  to  Sex,"  New  York,  1871,  Vol.  II, 
p.  355. 

*Ibid.,  p.  329. 

8  "  Histoire  des  Sciences  et  des  Savants,"  2«  ed.,  1885,  p.  129. 


CH.  xiv]  MALE   SEXUAL   SELECTION  363 

have  actually  existed  in  that  epoch,  requiring  scarcely  any  exercise 
of  the  sculptor's  imagination  to  reproduce  them  in  marble. 

The  fact  that  this  andreclexis  was  so  long  confined  to  a  numeri- 
cally small  class  of  mankind  accounts  for  the  great  differences  in  the 
beauty  of  women ;  and  the  fact  that  this  beauty  is  a  secondary  sex- 
ual character  renders  it  somewhat  ephemeral,  so  that  the  same  women 
who  were  beautiful  during  their  reproductive  period  are  apt  to  be- 
come ugly  during  the  latter  part  of  their  lives.  As  it  is  purely 
physical,  and  mind  plays  no  part  in  its  production,  this  element  of 
durability  is  also  wanting,  and  the  quality  is  in  a  high  degree  super- 
ficial. In  fact  there  is  some  resemblance  between  the  effects  of  male 
and  of  female  sexual  selection,  as  the  former  was  described  a  few 
pages  back.  There  is  a  certain  unreality,  artificiality,  and  spurious- 
ness  about  female  as  well  as  about  male  secondary  sexual  characters. 
The  two  processes  differ,  however,  in  many  respects.  Man,  for 
example,  does  not  desire  women  to  be  larger  and  stronger,  but  pre- 
fers frailty  and  a  certain  diminutiveness.  He  does  not  want  cun- 
ning nor  courage,  nor  any  sterling  mental  or  moral  qualities,  and 
therefore  woman  does  not  advance  in  these  directions.  Even  fecun- 
dity and  the  physical  development  necessary  to  render  it  successful 
are  not  specially  selected,  and  under  this  influence  woman  grows 
more  sterile  rather  than  more  fertile.  In  short,  almost  the  only 
quality  selected  is  bodily  symmetry  with  the  color  and  complexion 
that  best  conform  to  it.  The  result  is  that  if  this  were  to  go  on  a 
sufficient  length  of  time  without  the  neutralizing  and  compensating 
effect  of  other  more  normal  influences,  woman  might  ultimately  be 
reduced  to  a  helpless  parasite  upon  society,  comparable  to  the  condi- 
tion of  the  primitive  male  element,  and  the  cycle  might  be  completed 
by  the  production  of  cornpleinental  females  corresponding  to  Dar- 
win's complemental  males  in  the  cirripeds.  There  are  certain  women 
now  in  what  is  regarded  as  high  society  who  are  even  less  useful, 
since  they  contribute  nothing  to  the  quantity  or  quality  of  the  human 
species.  They  represent  what  Mr.  Veblen  calls  "  vicarious  leisure  " 
and  "vicarious  consumption,"  devoting  their  lives  to  "reputable 
futility."  In  fact  most  leisure  class  ideas  tend  in  the  direction  of 
making  the  women  of  that  class  as  useless  as  possible.  In  China,  as 
is  well  known,  the  ideal  of  female  beauty  consists  in  small  feet,  and 
not  satisfied  with  the  slow  processes  of  selection  and  heredity,  arti- 
ficial clamps  are  put  on  at  an  early  age  to  prevent  the  feet  from 


364  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PAHT  ir 

growing,  and  so  far  is  this  carried  that  we  are  told  that  many  women 
are  unable  to  walk. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  capricious  and  unnatural  tendencies,  male 
sexual  selection  has  been  perhaps  upon  the  whole  beneficial  in  secur- 
ing increased  physical  perfection  of  the  race,  primarily  of  women, 
a  sort  of  female  efflorescence,  but  also  in  some  degree  of  men. 

Woman  in  History.  —  The  series  of  influences  which  we  have  been 
describing  had  the  effect  to  fasten  upon  the  human  mind  the  habit 
of  thought  which  I  call  the  androcentric  world  view,  and  this  has 
persistently  clung  to  the  race  until  it  forms  to-day  the  substratum  of 
all  thought  and  action.  So  universal  is  this  attitude  that  a  presenta- 
tion of  the  real  and  fundamental  relation  of  the  sexes  is  something 
new  to  those  who  are  able  to  see  it,  and  something  preposterous  to 
those  who  are  not.  The  idea  that  the  female  is  naturally  and  really 
the  superior  sex  seems  incredible,  and  only  the  most  liberal  and 
emancipated  minds,  possessed  of  a  large  store  of  biological  informa- 
tion, are  capable  of  realizing  it.  At  the  beginning  of  the  historical 
period  woman  was  under  complete  subjection  to  man.  She  had  so 
long  been  a  mere  slave  and  drudge  that  she  had  lost  all  the  higher 
attributes  that  she  originally  possessed,  and  in  order  to  furnish  an 
excuse  for  degrading  and  abusing  her  men  had  imputed  to  her  a 
great  array  of  false  evil  qualities  that  tended  to  make  her  despise 
herself.  All  Oriental  literature,  all  the  ancient  sacred  books  and 
books  of  law,  all  the  traditional  epics,  all  the  literature  of  Greek 
and  Komaii  antiquity,  and  in  fact  all  that  was  written  during  the 
middle  ages,  and  much  of  the  literature  of  the  fifteenth,  sixteenth, 
and  seventeenth  centuries,  teem  with  epithets,  slurs,  flings,  and  open 
condemnations  of  women  as  beings  in  some  manner  vile  and  hateful, 
often  malicious  and  evil  disposed,  and  usually  endowed  with  some 
superstitious  power  for  evil.  The  horrors  of  witchcraft  were  noth- 
ing but  the  normal  fruit  of  this  prevailing  spirit  in  the  hands  of 
superstitious  priests  of  a  miracle-based  cult.  Near  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century  a  certain  book  appeared  entitled,  "The  Witch 
Hammer,"  which  received  the  sanction  of  Pope  Innocent  VIII,  and 
formed  the  companion  to  a  bull  against  witches  issued  by  him.  The 
following  is  a  sample  passage  from  this  book :  — 

The  holy  f  athers  have  often  said  that  there  are  three  things  that  have  no 
moderation  in  good  or  evil  —  the  tongue,  a  priest,  and  a  woman.  Concerning 
woman  this  is  evident.  All  ages  have  made  complaints  against  her.  The 


CH.  xiv]  WOMAN  IN   HISTORY  365 

wise  Solomon,  who  was  himself  tempted  to  idolatry  by  woman,  has  often  in 
his  writings  given  the  feminine  sex  a  sad  but  true  testimonial;  and  the  holy 
Chrysostom  says :  "  What  is  woman  but  an  enemy  of  friendship,  an  un- 
avoidable punishment,  a  necessary  evil,  a  natural  temptation,  a  desirable 
affliction,  a  constantly  flowing  source  of  tears,  a  wicked  work  of  nature 
covered  with  a  shining  varnish?"  Already  had  the  first  woman  entered 
into  a  sort  of  compact  with  the  devil ;  should  not,  then,  her  daughters  do  it 
also?  The  very  word  femlna  (woman)  means  one  wanting  in  faith ;  forfe 
means  "faith  "  and  minus  "  less."  Since  she  was  formed  of  a  crooked  rib, 
her  entire  spiritual  nature  has  been  distorted  and  inclined  more  toward  sin 
than  virtue.  If  we  here  compare  the  words  of  Seneca,  "  Woman  either 
loves  or  hates  ;  there  is  no  third  possibility,"  it  is  easy  to  see  that  when  she 
does  not  love  God  she  must  resort  to  the  opposite  extreme  and  hate  him. 
It  is  thus  clear  why  women  especially  are  addicted  to  the  practice  of  sorcery. 
The  crime  of  witches  exceeds  all  others.  They  are  worse  than  the  devil,  for 
he  has  fallen  once  for  all,  and  Christ  has  not  suffered  for  him.  The  devil 
sins,  therefore,  only  against  the  Creator,  but  the  witch  both  against  the 
Creator  and  Redeemer.1 

The  Hebrew  Bible  myth  of  the  rib  has  been  made  a  potent  instru- 
ment for  the  subjection  of  woman.  Bossuet  in  his  "Elevations  sur 
les  Mysteres,"  uttered  the  following  classical  note  which  has  since 
been  hurled  at  woman  on  every  possible  occasion :  — 

Let  women  consider  their  origin  and  not  boast  too  much  of  their 
delicacy ;  let  them  remember  that  they  are  after  all  only  a  supernumerary 
"bone,  in  which  there  is  no  beauty  but  that  which  God  wished  to  put  into  it.2 

Among  these  characteristic  fables  we  give  the  first  place  to  the  one  that 
has  been  preserved  for  us  by  the  Bible,  and  according  to  which  woman  was 
a  secondary  creation  of  God :  she  was  formed  out  of  a  rib  of  man  which 
justifies  her  domination  by  him.  That  is  probably  one  of  the  most  ancient 
examples  proving  that  a  de  facto  domination  is  never  embarrassed  in  proving 
its  "  right."  8 

1  The  only  copy  of  this  work  that  I  have  seen  is  as  old  as  1487,  and  although  it  has 
no  title  page,  place  or  date  of  publication,  it  bears  the  name  "Malleus  Maleficarum  " 
on  the  back  of  the  cover,  and  properly  begins  with  the  heading  :  "  Apologia  auctoris 
in  malleum  maleficarum."    This  is  preceded  by  the  text  of  the  bull  of  Pope  Innocent 
VIII,  "  adversus  heresim."    The  pages  are  not  numbered  and  passages  can  only  be 
cited  by  the  signature  marks  at  the  bottom,  which  consist  of  letters  in  alphabetical 
order  accompanied  by  Arabic  numbers  for  the  general  heads  or  rubrics.    The  above 
passage  occurs  under  the  rubric  :  "  Sequitur  quo  ad  ipsas  maleficas  demonibus  se 
subjicientibus,"  which  is  in  signature  C  and  is  No.  4.     It  need  not  be  quoted  in  full 
in  the  Latin   text,  but   the   part  relating  to  the  etymology  of   the  word  femina, 
woman,  reads  thus  :  "  Dicitur  enim  femina  fe,  et  minus,  quia  semper  minorem  habet 
et  seruat  fidem."    The  authorship  of  the  work  is  ascribed  to  Heinrich  Institor  and 
Jacob  Sprenger. 

2  "  Elevations  sur  les  Mysteres,"  V  Semaine,  II*  Elevation.     La  Creation  du 
second  sexe.    CEuvres  de  Bossuet,  Tome  quatrieme,  Paris,  1841,  p.  653. 

8  Gumplowicz,  "  Precis  de  Sociologie,"  p.  182. 


366  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

The  literature  and  thought  of  India  is  thoroughly  hostile  to 
woman.  A  large  number  of  proverbs  attest  this  widespread 
misogyny.  "Woman  is  like  a  slipper  made  to  order;  wear  it  if 
it  fits  you,  throw  it  away  if  it  does  not."  "  You  can  never  be  safe 
from  the  cunning  artifices  of  woman."  "Woman  is  like  a  snake, 
charming  as  well  as  venomous."  Hebrew  literature  breathes 
the  same  spirit,  and*  the  reading  of  the  Bible  often  brings  the  color 
to  the  cheeks  of  a  liberal-minded  person  of  either  sex.  Arabian 
magic  is  even  worse  in  this  respect,  and  is  so  erotic  that  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  obtain  an  unexpurgated  text  of  the  Arabian  Nights 
Entertainments,  about  75  per  cent  of  the  matter  being  expunged 
from  all  current  editions.  The  androcentric  world  view  may  almost 
be  said  to  have  its  headquarters  in  India.  The  "  Code  of  Manu  " 
reflects  it  throughout.  According  to  it  "  Woman  depends  during  her 
childhood  upon  her  father;  during  her  youth  upon  her  husband;  in 
her  widowhood  upon  her  sons  or  her  male  relatives;  in  default 
of  these,  upon  the  sovereign."  "She  should  always  be  in  good 
humor  and  revere  her  husband,  even  though  unfaithful,  as  a  god." 
"  If  a  widow  she  must  not  even  pronounce  the  name  of  another  man 
than  her  deceased  husband."1  The  husband  always  addressed 
his  wife  as  servant  or  slave,  while  she  must  address  him  as  master 
or  lord.  The  same  code  declares  that  "  it  is  in  the  nature  of  the 
feminine  sex  to  seek  to  corrupt  men,"  and  forbids  any  man  to  remain 
in  any  place  alone  with  his  sister,  his  mother,  or  his  daughter. 
Even  at  the  present  day  in  India  free  choice,  especially  of  the 
woman,  has  nothing  to  do  with  marriage,  and  parents  and  families 
arbitrarily  dispose  of  the  girls,  often  at  a  very  tender  age. 

Modern  countries  differ  somewhat  in  the  prevailing  ideas  about 
women.  No  statement  is  more  frequently  repeated  than  that  in  any 
country  the  treatment  of  women  is  a  true  measure  of  the  degree  of 
civilization.  It  may  now  be  added  to  this  that  the  treatment  of 
women  is  a  true  measure  of  the  intensity  of  the  androcentric  senti- 
ment prevailing  in  any  country.  It  might  be  invidious  to  attempt 
to  classify  modern  nations  on  this  basis",  especially  as  individuals  in 
any  country  differ  so  widely  in  this  respect.  It  is  a  measure  of  civ- 
ilization or  civility  in  individuals  as  well  as  in  nations,  and  in  every 
nation  there  are  thoroughly  liberal  and  fully  civilized  individuals. 
Neither  can  the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  centuries  claim  them  all, 
1  "Code  of  Manu,"  Book  V,  Ordinances,  Nos.  148,  154, 157. 


CH.  xiv]  WOMAN   IN   HISTORY  367 

as  we  have  seen  in  the  noble  sayings  of  Condorcet,  who  was  probably 
the  most  civilized  man  of  his  time,  far  more  so  than  Comte  who 
made  him  his  spiritual  father  but  did  not  share  his  liberality.  In 
placing  Germany  at  the  bottom  of  the  scale  in  this  basis  of  classifi- 
cation, therefore,  numberless  shining  exceptions  must  be  made,  and 
account  taken  only  of  the  general  spirit  or  public  opinion  relative  to 
women  in  that  country.  The  German  attitude  toward  women  was 
perhaps  typified  by  the  father  of  Frederick  the  Great,  of  whom  it  is 
related  as  among  his  sterling  qualities,  that  when  he  met  a  woman 
in  the  street  he  would  walk  up  to  her  with  his  cane  raised,  saying : 
"  Go  back  into  the  house !  an  honest  woman  should  keep  indoors." 
Spencer  says :  — 

Concerning  the  claims  of  women,  as  domestically  associated  with  men, 
I  may  add  that  here  in  England,  and  still  more  in  America,  the  need  for 
urging  them  is  not  pressing.  In  some  cases,  indeed,  there  is  a  converse  need. 
But  there  are  other  civilized  societies  in  which  their  claims  are  very  inade- 
quately recognized :  instance  Germany. 

To  which  he  appends  the  following  footnote :  — 

With  other  reasons  prompting  this  remark,  is  joined  the  remembrance  of 
a  conversation  between  two  Germans  in  which,  with  contemptuous  laughter, 
they  were  describing  how,  in  England,  they  had  often  seen  on  a  Sunday  or 
other  holiday,  an  artizan  relieving  his  wife  by  carrying  the  child  they  had 
with  them.  Their  sneers  produced  in  me  a  feeling  of  shame — but  not  for 
the  artizan.1 

Germans  as  a  rule  detest  American  women  for  their  initiative  and 
boldness,  daring  to  act  and  think  independently  of  their  husbands 
and  of  men  generally,  and  they  apply  to  them  the  strongest  term  of 
contempt  that  they  have  in  their  language  in  characterizing  them 
as  emancipirt.  Woman  is  much  more  respected  in  France,  but  under 
Napoleon  and  his  code  there  was  a  recoil  toward  barbarism.  Napo- 
leon said  to  the  Council  of  State  that  "  a  husband  should  have  abso- 
lute power  over  the  actions  of  his  wife."  In  the  "  Memorial  de 
Sainte-Helene  "  he  is  quoted  to  the  following  effect :  — 

Woman  is  given  to  man  to  bring  forth  children.  Woman  is  our  property ; 
we  are  not  hers ;  for  she  gives  us  children  and  man  does  not  give  any  to  her. 
She  is  therefore  his  property,  as  the  tree  is  that  of  the  gardener.  ...  A 
single  woman  cannot  suffice  for  a  man  for  that  purpose.  She  cannot  be  his 
wife  when  she  is  sick.  She  ceases  to  be  his  wife  when  she  can  no  longer 

l  Justice  (''  Principles  of  Ethics,"  Vol.  II),  pp.  162-163  (§  89). 


368  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

give  him  children.     Man,  -whom  nature  does  not  arrest  either  by  age  or  by 
any  of  these  inconveniences,  should  therefore  have  several  wives.1 

Only  a  part  of  the  oppressive  laws  of  the  code  Napoleon  have 
been  repealed,  but  public  opinion  in  France  is  far  in  advance  of  its 
laws,  and  judging  from  outward  indications,  I  should  be  inclined 
to  place  that  country,  next  to  the  United  States,  as  the  most 
highly  civilized  nation  of  the  globe.  In  this  I  am  only  uttering 
the  view  long  ago  put  forth  with  large  documentary  support  by 
Guizot. 

Throughout  the  historic  period  woman  has  suffered  from  a  con- 
sistent, systematic,  and  universal  discrimination  in  the  laws  of  all 
countries.  In  all  the  early  codes  she  was  herself  a  hereditament, 
and  when  she  ceased  to  be  a  chattel  she  was  not  allowed  to  inherit 
property,  or  was  cut  down  to  a  very  small  share  in  the  estate.  In 
this  and  many  other  ways  her  economic  dependence  has  been  made 
more  or  less  complete.  Letourneau 2  has  enumerated  many  of  these 
discriminating  laws,  and  we  have  only  to  turn  the  pages  of  the  law 
books  to  find  them  everywhere.  When  a  student  of  law  I  scheduled 
scores  of  them,  and  could  fill  a  dozen  pages  with  a  bare  enumeration 
of  such  as  still  form  part  of  the  common  law  of  England  as  taught 
to  law  classes  even  in  the  United  States.  All  this  is  simply  the  em- 
bodiment in  the  jurisprudence  of  nations  of  the  universal  androcen- 
tric world  view,  and  it  has  been  unquestioningly  acquiesced  in  by 
all  mankind,  including  the  women  themselves. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  word  woman  reflects  this  world  view,  showing 
that  it  is  older  than  the  stock  of  languages  from  which  this  word  is 
derived.  For  although  it  is  no  longer  believed  by  philologists  that 
the  first  syllable  of  this  word  has  anything  to  do  with  womb,  still  it 
is  certain  that  the  last  syllable  is  the  same  as  the  German  Mann, 
not  Mensch,  and  that  the  rest  signifies  wife  or  female,  as  though 
man  were  the  original  and  woman  only  a  secondary  creation.  As 
regards  the  Latin  femina,  while  of  course  it  has  no  connection  with 
faith  or  minus,  as  stated  in  the  "  Witch  Hammer,"  still  the  syllable 
fe  is  the  hypothetical  root  from  which  fecundity  comes,  and  the  word 
signifies  the  fertile  sex.  Primarily  no  such  conceptions  as  beauty, 

1 "  Memorial  de  Sainte-Helene,"  Journal  de  la  vie  privee  et  les  conversations  de 
1'Empereur  Napoleon  a  Sainte-Helene,  par  le  Comte  de  Las  Cases,  Londres,  1823, 
Tome  II,  Quatrieme  partie,  juin,  1816,  pp.  117-118. 

2"  La  Sociologie  d'apres  1 'Ethnographic,"  pp.  180  ff. 


CH.  xiv]  WOMAN  IN  HISTORY  369 

grace,  delicacy,  and  attractiveness  are  associated  with  woman,  and 
all  notions  of  dignity,  honor,  and  worth  are  equally  wanting  from 
the  conception  of  the  female  sex.  On  the  contrary,  we  find  many 
terms  of  reproach,  such  as  wench,  hag,  etc.,  for  which  there  are  no 
corresponding  ones  applicable  to  man. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  vast  network  of  bonds  that  have  been 
contrived  for  holding  woman  down,  it  is  peculiar  and  significant  that 
everywhere  and  always  she  has  been  tacitly  credited  with  a  certain 
mysterious  power  in  which  the  world  has,  as  it  were,  stood  in  awe 
and  fear.  While  perpetually  proclaiming  her  inferiority,  insignifi- 
cance, and  weakness,  it  has  by  its  precautions  virtually  recognized 
her  potential  importance  and  real  strength.  She  is  the  cause  of 
wars  and  race  hostilities.  There  are  always  powerful  female  deities. 
Minerva  is  even  made  the  goddess  of  wisdom.  Ever  and  anon  a 
great  female  personage,  real  or  fictitious,  appears,  a  Semiramis,  a 
Cleopatra,  a  Joan  of  Arc,  a  Queen  Elizabeth,  or  a  Queen  Victoria ; 
Scheherazade  with  her  thousand  and  one  tales,  Sibyls  with  their 
divinations  and  oracles,  Furies,  and  Gorgons;  and  finally  the 
witches  with  all  their  powers  for  evil.  Although  woman  is  usually 
pictured  as  bad,  still  there  is  no  uncertainty  about  the  supposed 
possession  by  her  of  some  occult  power,  and  the  impression  is  con- 
stantly conveyed  that  she  must  be  strenuously  kept  down,  lest 
should  she  by  any  accident  or  remissness  chance  to  "  get  loose,"  she 
would  certainly  do  something  dreadful. 

One  of  the  arguments  most  relied  upon  for  the  justification  of  the 
continued  subjection  of  woman  is  that,  in  addition  to  being  physi- 
cally inferior  to  man,  the  differences  between  the  sexes  have  been 
widening  during  past  ages  and  are  greater  in  civilized  than  in  sav- 
age peoples.  The  investigations  of  Professor  Le  Bon  have  been 
widely  quoted  by  all  writers  on  the  general  subject.  He  found  that 
the  difference  between  the  respective  weight  of  the  brain  in  man 
and  woman  constantly  goes  on  increasing  as  we  rise  in  the  scale  of 
civilization,  so  that  as  regards  the  mass  of  the  brain,  and  conse- 
quently the  intelligence,  woman  becomes  more  and  more  differ- 
entiated from  man.  The  difference  which  exists  between  the  mean 
of  the  crania  of  contemporary  Parisian  men  and  that  of  contempo- 
rary Parisian  women  is  almost  double  the  difference  which  existed 
in  ancient  Egypt.  Topinard  finds  the  same  to  be  true  of  the  fossil 
crania  of  prehistoric  times.  In  certain  South  American  tribes  the 

2B 


370  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

sexes  scarcely  differ  except  in  sex  itself.1  According  to  Manouvrier, 
the  cranial  capacity  of  women  has  diminished  from  1422  cubic  centi- 
meters in  the  stone  age  to  1338  cubic  centimeters  at  the  present  day.2 
Accepting  these  statements  as  in  all  probability  correct,  what  is 
the  lesson  that  should  really  be  dra\vn  from  them  ?  Letourneau 
argues  that  the  difference  between  the  life  that  women  must  lead  in 
roving  hordes  and  bands,  doing  most  of  the  work  to  relieve  the  men 
for  hunting  and  war,  necessitated  stronger  bodies  than  modern 
civilized  life  requires  for  women.  This  is  also  doubtless  true,  and 
civilized  woman  would  quickly  succumb  to  such  hardships.  But  is 
this  an  adequate  explanation  ?  I  think  not.  We  must  remember 
how  much  nearer  savage  man  is  to  the  gynaecocratic  stage,  in.  which 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  woman  was  nearly  equal  in  strength 
to  man.  If  the  prehuman  or  animal  stage  saw  the  excessive  develop- 
ment of  the  male,  the  earliest  human  stage  found  woman  unchanged 
and  in  the  full  vigor  of  her  natural  strength,  still  choosing  her  mates 
and  governing  the  life  of  the  horde.  But  with  the  advent  of  the 
androcratic  stage,  while  woman  lost  her  power  of  selection,  so  that 
man  could  develop  no  farther,  the  abuses  to  which  he  subjected  her 
soon  began  to  tell  upon  her  and  produce  degeneracy.  In  Chapter  X 
we  considered  the  effect  of  adverse  conditions  upon  man  in  general, 
and  saw  how  the  status  of  a  class  might  be  lowered  by  insufficient 
nourishment  and  undue  toil  and  exposure,  which  accounts  for  the 
superiority  of  the  ruling  and  leisure  classes.  Now  in  the  androcratic 
regime  woman  dropped  into  the  condition  of  a  subject  class  and  was 
denied  much  that  was  necessary  to  maintain  her  normal  existence. 
It  is  well  known  that  savage  women  are  usually  underfed,  that  they 
are  allowed  no  luxuries,  made  to  subsist  on  the  leavings  of  the  men 
at  whose  table  they  are  never  permitted  to  sit,  often  have  no  meat 
or  fish  when  the  men  have  these  articles,  that  they  have  little  rest, 
must  carry  wood  and  water,  drag  lodge  poles,  and  care  for  the  chil- 
dren, besides  preparing  the  meals  for  all,  that  they  are  insufficiently 
clothed  in  countries  where  clothing  is  needed,  and  that  they  are  dur- 
ing their  entire  lives  subjected  to  perpetual  hardships  and  priva- 
tions. Of  course,  as  they  bear  the  children  all  this  reacts  upon  both 
sexes,  but  in  the  long  run  it  affects  the  women  more  than  the  men 

1  References  to  the  works  and  memoirs  in  which  those  statements  occur,  as  well  as 
numerous  others  to  the  same  general  effect,  are  given  by  Durkheim,  "  De  la  Division 
du  Travail  Social,"  Paris,  1893,  pp.  58,  59. 

2  Revue  International  de  Sociologie,  1899,  p.  605. 


CH.  xiv]  WOMAN   IN   HISTORY  371 

who  have  ways  of  offsetting  it,  and  in  the  course  of  generations  it 
arrests  female  development  and  stunts  the  growth  of  women. 

When  we  come  to  the  historic  period  we  have  seen  how  universal 
and  systematic  has  always  been,  the  suppression  of  woman  and  her 
legal  and  social  exclusion  and  ostracism  from  everything  that  tends 
to  build  up  either  body  or  mind.  When  I  reflect  upon  it  the  wonder 
to  me  is  rather  that  woman  has  accomplished  anything  at  all.  The 
small  amount  that  she  has  been  allowed  to  use  her  mind  has  almost 
caused  it  to  be  atrophied.  This  alone  is  sufficient  to  account  for  all 
the  facts  enumerated  above  as  supporting  the  androcentric  theory, 
so  far  as  the  intellectual  achievements  of  women  are  concerned.  M. 
Jacques  Lourbet  in  his  "  Probleme  des  Sexes  "  (Paris,  1900)  says  :  — 

Let  no  one  insist  longer  on  the  modest  contribution  of  woman  to  the 
creative  work  of  art  and  science.  She  suffers  to  this  day  from  the  ostracism 
of  centuries  that  man  has  imposed  upon  her,  from  the  network  of  exclusions 
and  prohibitions  of  every  kind  in  which  she  has  been  enveloped,  and  which 
have  ended  in  producing  that  apparent  inferiority,  which  is  not  natural  but 
purely  hereditary. 

Professor  Huxley  in  a  letter  to  the  London  Times  relative  to  the 
failure  of  a  certain  lady  in  her  examination,  remarked :  — 

Without  seeing  any  reason  to  believe  that  women  are,  on  the  average,  so 
strong  physically,  intellectually,  or  morally,  as  men,  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes 
to  the  obvious  fact  that  many  women  are  much  better  endowed  in  all  these 
respects  than  many  men,  and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  on  what  grounds 
of  justice  or  public  policy  a  career  which  is  open  to  the  weakest  and  most 
foolish  of  the  male  sex  should  be  forcibly  closed  to  women  of  vigor  and 
capacity.  We  have  heard  a  great  deal  lately  about  the  physical  disabilities 
of  women.  Some  of  these  alleged  impediments,  no  doubt,  are  really  inher- 
ent in  their  organization,  but  nine-tenths  of  them  are  artificial  —  the  pro- 
duct of  their  mode  of  life.  I  believe  that  nothing  would  tend  so  effectually 
to  get  rid  of  these  creations  of  idleness,  weariness,  and  that  "  over -stimula- 
tion of  the  emotions,"  which,  in  plainer-spoken  days,  used  to  be  called  wan- 
tonness, than  a  fair  share  of  healthy  work,  directed  toward  a  definite  object, 
combined  with  an  equally  fair  share  of  healthy  play,  during  the  years  of 
adolescence ;  and  those  who  are  best  acquainted  with  the  acquirements  of 
an  average  medical  practitioner,  will  find  it  hardest  to  believe  that  the  attempt 
to  reach  that  standard  is  likely  to  prove  exhausting  to  an  ordinarily  intelli- 
gent and  well-educated  young  woman.1 

It  would  seem  that  the  treatment  that  woman  has  received  and 
still  receives  under  the  operation  of  the  androcentric  world  view  is 

1  Popular  Sdcnce  Monthly,  Vol.  V,  October,  1874,  p.  764. 


372  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

amply  sufficient  of  itself  to  account  for  all  the  observed  differences- 
between  the  sexes  physically  and  mentally,  and  that  the  widening  of 
those  differences  during  the  historic  period  is  abundantly  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that  the  gynaecocratic  stage  persisted  far  into  the 
human  period,  during  which  women  were  the  equals  of  men  except 
in  respect  of  certain  embellishments  attending  male  efflorescence  due 
to  prolonged  female  sexual  selection  or  gyneclexis.  When  this  was 
withdrawn  man  ceased  to  advance  and  woman  began  to  decline 
under  the  depressing  effects  of  male  abuse.  But  there  was  another 
element  that  contributed  in  the  main  to  the  same  result.  This  was. 
male  sexual  selection  or  andreclexis,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
confined  to  physical  characters,  and  while  it  has  given  to  woman  all 
the  beauty  and  grace  that  she  possesses,  it  tended  rather  to  dwarf  her 
stature,  sap  her  strength,  contract  her  brain,  and?  enfeeble  her  mind. 
In  these  two  principles,  the  first  dating  from  the  origin  of  the  patri- 
archate during  the  protosocial  stage,  and  the  other  dating  from  the 
origin  of  the  leisure  class  early  in  the  metasocial  stage,  and  both 
therefore  in  operation  at  least  twice  as  long,  probably  many  times 
as  long,  as  the  entire  historic  period,  we  certainly  have  a  surplus  of 
influence  bearing  on  the  deterioration  of  woman,  and  a  more  than 
adequate  cause  for  all  inferiority  ever  claimed  or  alleged  by  the 
supporters  of  the  androcentric  theory.  Indeed,  as  we  contemplate 
these  factors  the  wonder  grows  why  woman  did  not  sink  still  lower. 
The  only  possible  reason  is  that,  despite  all,  she  is  and  remains  the 
human  race. 

TJie  Future  of  Woman.  —  This  topic  does  not  of  course  properly 
belong  to  pure  sociology  except  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  reduced  to  a 
scientific  prediction.  This  can  be  made  by  any  one,  and  no  one 
would  care  to  venture  into  its  details.  But  such  a  survey  as  has 
been  made  of  the  great  field  of  sex  development,  biological,  physio- 
logical, zoological,  anthropological,  and  sociological,  can  scarcely 
fail  to  suggest  to  the  enlightened  mind  the  prolongation  of  the  con- 
nected series  of  processes  that  have  taken  place  in  the  past  and  the 
representation  of  the  condition  that  is  likely  to  ensue  as  the  neces- 
sary result  of  such  prolongation.  A  single  glance  at  the  last  two 
centuries  of  the  historic  period  compared  with  the  centuries  that 
preceded  them  shows  such  an  immense  change  in  woman's  condition 
as  to  suggest  that  the  vast  downward  curve  has  more  than  reached 
the  lowest  point,  and  that  the  ordinates  have  begun  to  shorten.  "We 


CH.  xiv]  RECAPITULATION  373 

find  ourselves  confronted  by  a  great  "  ricorso,"  and  the  cyclic  form 
already  clearly  impresses  itself  upon  the  mind.  Not  only  this,  but 
a  closer  scrutiny  reveals  the  fact  that  the  curve  does  not  lie  wholly 
in  the  same  plane,  and  that  the  figure  has  three  dimensions.  In 
other  words,  it  is  not  a  cycle  or  circle,  but  a  spiral,  and  the  ends 
will  never  meet  and  restore  a  true  gynsecocracy.  With  the  comple- 
tion of  a  revolution  both  man  and  woman  will  find  themselves  on  a 
far  higher  plane,  and  in  a  stage  that,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  may 
be  called  gynandrocratic,  a  stage  in  which  both  man  and  woman 
shall  be  free  to  rule  themselves. 

But  all  this  is  after  all  an  anticipation,  since  the  rapid  upward 
direction  of  the  curve  late  in  the  historic  period  is  wholly  due  to  the 
influence  of  the  sociogenetic  forces  to  be  considered  in  the  next  chap- 
ter, and  the  full  nature  of  this  influence  cannot  be  clearly  perceived 
until  these  forces  have  been  studied  and  analyzed.  We  are  here 
only  concerned  with  the  phylogenetic  forces,  and  it  is  their  influence 
that  we  have  thus  far  sought  to  explain. 

Recapitulation.  —  It  may  be  advantageous  briefly  to  recapitulate 
this  necessarily  prolonged  survey  of  the  gynaecocentric  theory. 
Many  of  the  heads  are,  it  is  true,  sufficiently  self-explaining,  and 
a  glance  at  them  in  their  order  will  recall  the  steps  in  the  chain 
of  events,  but  others  are  more  obscure,  and  a  rapid  survey  of  the 
whole  field,  though  needless  for  some,  will  be  useful  to  others. 

First  of  all,  it  was  found  that  all  organisms,  whether  unicellular 
or  multicellular,  are  capable  not  only  of  supplying  the  waste  of  their 
substance  through  nutrition  proper,  but  also  of  that  form  of  nutri- 
tion which  goes  beyond  the  individual  (ultra-nutrition)  and  carries  the 
process  into  another  individual  (cdtro-nutrition),  and  this  is  called 
reproduction. 

In  the  second  place,  the  manifest  advantage  of  crossing  strains  and 
infusing  into  life  elements  that  come  from  outside  the  organism,  or 
even  from  a  specialized  organ  of  the  same  organism,  was  seized 
upon  by  natural  selection,  and  a  process  was  inaugurated  that  is 
called  fert ilization,  first  through  an  organ  belonging  to  the  organism 
itself  (hermaphroditism),  and  then  by  the  detachment  of  this  organ 
and  its  erection  into  an  independent,  but  miniature  organism  wholly 
unlike  the  primary  one.  This  last  was  at  first  parasitic  upon  the 
primary  organism,  then  complemental  to  it  and  carried  about  in 
a  sac  provided  for  the  purpose.  Its  simplest  form  was  a  sac  filled 


374  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

with  spermatozoa  in  a  liquid  or  gelatinous  medium.  Later  it  was 
endowed  with  an  ephemeral  independent  existence,  and  so  adjusted 
that  its  contained  sperm  cells  were  at  the  proper  time  brought  into 
contact  with  the  germ  cells  of  the  organism  proper.  This  fertilizing 
organ  or  miniature  sperm  sac  was  the  primitive  form  of  what  sub- 
sequently developed  into  the  male  sex,  the  female  sex  being  the 
organism  proper,  which  remained  practically  unchanged.  The 
remaining  steps  in  the  entire  process  consisted  therefore  in  the  sub- 
sequent modification  and  creation,  as  it  were,  of  the  male  organism. 

The  development  of  a  male  organism  out  of  this  formless  sperm 
sac,  or  testicle,  was  accomplished  through  the  continuous  selection 
by  the  organism  proper,  ultimately  called  the  female,  of  such  forms, 
among  many  varying  forms  of  the  fertilizing  agent  as  best  conformed 
to  the  tastes  or  vaguely-felt  preferences  of  the  organism,  and  the 
exclusion  of  all  other  forms  from  any  part  in  the  process  of  fertiliza- 
tion. The  peculiarities  of  form  thus  selected  are  transmitted  by 
heredity  and,  while  they  do  not  affect  the  female,  they  transform 
the  male  in  harmony  with  these  preferences  of  the  female  or  organ- 
ism proper.  As  the  male  fertilizer  is  a  product  of  reproduction  by 
the  organism,  it  naturally  inherits  the  general  qualities  of  the 
organism.  The  preferences  of  the  organism  are  also  likely  to  be 
a  form  similar  to  itself.  The  organism,  or  female,  therefore,  liter- 
ally creates  the  male  in  its  own  image,  and  from  a  shapeless  sac  it 
gradually  assumes  a  definite  form  agreeing  in  general  characteristics 
with  that  of  the  original  organism.  There  is  no  other  reason  why 
the  male  should  in  the  least  resemble  the  female,  and  but  for  these 
causes  a  male  animal  might  belong  to  an  entirely  different  type  from 
the  female.  Even  as  it  is  the  resemblance  is  often  not  close  and  the 
sexes  differ  enormously. 

The  introduction  of  fertilization  in  connection  with  reproduction 
was  gradual  and  was  not  at  first  at  all  necessary  to  it.  It  came  in 
at  the  outset  as  an  occasional  resort  for  infusing  new  elements  after 
a  long  series  of  generations  through  normal  reproduction.  This 
occasional  fertilization  is  called  the  alternation  of  generations.  It 
is  common  to  many  of  the  lower  organisms  and  to  all  plants,  repro- 
duction by  buds  being  the  normal  form,  and  that  by  seeds  being  the 
result  of  fertilization.  So  great  was  the  advantage  of  fertilization 
that  in  the  animal  kingdom  it  first  came  to  accompany  each  separate 
act  of  reproduction,  and  finally  became  a  condition  to  reproduction 


CH.  xiv]  RECAPITULATION  375 

itself.  From  the  fact  that  such  is  the  case  in  all  the  higher  animals, 
which  are  the  ones  best  known  to  all,  the  error  arose  that  fertiliza- 
tion is  an  essential  part  of  reproduction,  and  that  sex  is  necessary 
to  reproduction,  an  error  difficult  to  dislodge. 

The  male  having  been  thus  created  at  a  comparatively  late  period 
in  the  history  of  organic  life,  it  soon  advanced  under  the  influences 
described  and  began  to  assume  more  or  less  the  form  and  character 
of  the  primary  organism,  which  is  then  called  the  female.  It  lost 
its  character  of  a  formless  mass  of  sperm  cells  and  assumed  definite 
shape.  For  a  long  time  it  did  not  exist  for  itself,  but  simply  for  its 
function,  and  was  exceedingly  small,  frail,  and  ephemeral,  often  pos- 
sessing no  organs  of  nutrition  or  powers  of  self-preservation,  and 
perishing  as  soon  as  it  had  performed  its  function,  or  without  per- 
forming it,  if  not  selected  from  among  a  multitude  of  males.  This 
selection  of  the  best  examples  and  rejection  of  the  inferior  ones 
caused  the  male  to  rise  in  the  scale  and  resemble  more  and  more  the 
primary  organism,  or  female.  But  other  qualities  were  also  selected 
than  those  that  the  female  possessed.  This  was  due  to  the  early 
development  of  the  esthetic  faculty  in  the  female,  and  these  qualities 
were  in  the  nature  of  embellishments.  The  male,  therefore,  while 
approaching  the  form  and  stature  of  the  female,  began  to  differ  from 
her  in  these  esthetic  qualities.  The  result  was  that  in  the  two  high- 
est classes  of  animals,  birds  and  mammals,  the  male  became  in  many 
cases,  but  not  in  all,  highly  ornamental,  and  endowed  with  numerous 
peculiar  organs,  called  secondary  sexual  characters.  To  further 
selection  a  plurality  of  males  often  occurred,  and  these  became  rivals 
for  female  favor.  This  led  to  battles  among  the  males,  which  further 
developed  the  latter,  especially  in  the  direction  of  size,  strength, 
weapons  of  offense,  and  general  fighting  capacity.  These  qualities 
were  never  used  to  force  the  female  into  submission,  but  always  and 
solely  to  gain  her  favor  and  insure  the  selection  of  the  successful 
rivals.  In  many  birds  and  mammals  these  qualities  thus  became 
greatly  over-developed,  resulting  in  what  I  have  called  male  efflo- 
rescence. To  a  considerable  extent,  but  less  than  in  many  other 
species,  the  immediate  ancestors  of  man  possessed  this  over-develop- 
ment of  the  male,  and  in  most  primates  the  male  is  larger,  stronger, 
and  more  highly  ornamented  than  the  female. 

When  the  human  race  finally  appeared  through  gradual  emer- 
gence from  the  great  simian  stock,  this  difference  in  the  sexes  ex- 


376  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

isted,  and  sexual  selection  was  still  going  on.  Primitive  woman, 
though  somewhat  smaller,  physically  weaker,  and  esthetically 
plainer  than  man,  still  possessed  the  power  of  selection,  and  was 
mistress  of  the  kinship  group.  Neither  sex  had  any  more  idea  of 
the  connection  between  fertilization  and  reproduction  than  do  ani- 
mals, and  therefore  the  mother  alone  claimed  and  cared  for  the  off- 
spring, as  is  done  throughout  the  animal  kingdom  below  man.  So 
long  as  this  state  of  things  endured  the  race  remained  in  the  stage 
called  gynsecocracy,  or  female  rule.  That  this  was  a  very  long 
stage  is  attested  by  a  great  number  of  facts,  many  of  which  have 
been  considered. 

As  it  was  brain  development  which  alone  made  man  out  of  an 
animal  by  enabling  him  to  break  over  faunal  barriers  and  over- 
spread the  globe,  so  it  was  brain  development  that  finally  suggested 
the  causal  nexus  between  fertilization  and  reproduction,  and  led  to 
the  recognition  by  man  of  his  paternity  and  joint  proprietorship 
with  woman  in  the  offspring  of  their  loins.  This  produced  a  pro- 
found social  revolution,  overthrew  the  authority  of  woman,  de- 
stroyed her  power  of  selection,  and  finally  reduced  her  to  the 
condition  of  a  mere  slave  of  the  stronger  sex,  although  that  strength 
had  been  conferred  by  her.  The  stage  of  gynaecocracy  was  suc- 
ceeded by  the  stage  of  androcracy,  and  the  subjection  of  woman 
was  rendered  complete. 

The  patriarchate,  or  patriarchal  family,  prevailed  throughout  the 
remainder  of  the  protosocial  stage,  woman  being  reduced  to  a  mere 
chattel,  bought  and  sold,  enslaved,  and  abused  beyond  any  power 
of  description.  With  the  metasocial  stage,  brought  about  by  the 
collision  of  primitive  hordes  and  by  a  general  system  of  wars 
and  conquests  resulting  in  race  amalgamation,  forms  of  marriage 
more  or  less  ceremonial  arose,  which,  though  all  in  the  nature  of 
the  transfer  of  women  for  a  consideration,  still  somewhat  mitigated 
the  horrors  of  earlier  periods,  and  resulted  in  a  general  state  of 
polygyny  among  the  upper  classes.  The  powerful  effect  of  this 
race  mixture  in  hastening  brain  development,  coupled  with  its  other 
effect  in  creating  a  leisure  class  in  which  the  physical  wants,  includ- 
ing the  sexual,  were  fully  supplied,  resulted  in  a  high  esthetic  sense 
in  man,  and  led  to  a  widespread  system  of  male  sexual  selection,  or 
andreclexis,  through  which  the  physical  nature  of  woman  began  to 
be  modified.  Although  this  could  affect  only  a  comparatively  small 


CH.  xiv]  CLASSIFICATION  377 

percentage  of  all  women,  it  was  sufficient  to  produce  types  of  female 
beauty,  and  it  is  chiefly  to  this  cause  that  woman  has  acquired  the 
quality  of  a  "  fair  sex,"  in  so  far  as  this  term  is  applicable.  The 
general  effect  of  male  sexual  selection,  however,  was  rather  to 
diminish  than  to  increase  her  real  value,  and  to  lower  than  to  raise 
her  general  status.  It  increased  her  dependence  upon  man  while  at 
the  same  time  reducing  her  power  to  labor  or  in  any  way  protect  or 
preserve  herself. 

Throughout  all  human  history  woman  has  been  powerfully  dis- 
criminated against  and  held  down  by  custom,  law,  literature,  and 
public  opinion.  All  opportunity  has  been  denied  her  to  make  any 
trial  of  her  powers  in  any  direction.  In  savagery  she  was  underfed, 
overworked,  unduly  exposed,  and  mercilessly  abused,  so  that  in  so 
far  as  these  influences  could  be  confined  to  one  sex,  they  tended  to 
stunt  her  physical  and  mental  powers.  During  later  ages  her  social 
ostracism  has  been  so  universal  and  complete  that,  whatever  powers 
she  may  have  had,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  make  any  use  of 
them,  and  they  have  naturally  atrophied  and  shriveled.  Only  dur- 
ing the  last  two  centuries  and  in  the  most  advanced  nations,  under 
the  growing  power  of  the  sociogenetic  energies  of  society,  has  some 
slight  relief  from  her  long  thraldom  been  grudgingly  and  reluctantly 
vouchsafed.  What  a  continued  and  increasing  tendency  in  this 
direction  will  accomplish  it  is  difficult  to  presage,  but  all  signs  are 
at  present  hopeful. 

CLASSIFICATION  OF  THE  PHYLOGENETIC  FORCES 

Just  as  the  ontogenetic  forces  may  be  summed  up  in  the  word 
hunger,  so  the  phylogenetic  forces  may  be  summed  up  in  the  word 
love.  All  social  forces  are  appetites,  and  the  two  primary  appetites 
are  the  appetite  for  food  and  the  appetite  for  sex.  We  have  seen 
how  the  latter  originated.  Reproduction,  being  only  altro-nutrition, 
embodies  no  new  principle  until  the  stage  of  fertilization  is  reached, 
but  in  order  to  secure  fertilization  a  new  and  special  interest  had  to 
be  developed  strong  enough  to  impel  the  active  male  element  to 
seek  the  passive  female  organism.  This  interest  constitutes  the 
sexual  appetite,  primarily  confined  chiefly  to  the  male,  but  finally 
common  to  both  sexes,  though  always  more  intense  and  aggressive 
in  the  male.  This  appetite  is  properly  called  love,  and  is  the  origi- 
nal form  of  all  love  except  such  forms  as,  through  pure  ambiguity 


878  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

of  language,  belong  to  an  entirely  different  class  of  psychic 
phenomena. 

The  classification  of  the  phylogenetic  forces  must  therefore  con- 
sist in  tracing  the  progress  of  this  primary  appetitive  force  and 
observing  its  differentiation  and  specialization,  and  after  it  has 
attained  its  fullest  observed  development,  in  comparing,  analyzing, 
studying,  and  classifying  its  derivative  branches.  We  have  already 
followed  out  the  principal  events  to  which  the  phylogenetic  forces 
gave  rise  in  the  animal  world,  in  the  ancestors  of  man,  in  primitive 
man,  and  to  some  extent  in  presocial,  early  social,  and  historic  man, 
but  our  sketch  closed  almost  before  the  origin  of  the  principal 
branches  of  the  main  trunk  had  been  given  off,  and  some  of  the 
important  early  ramifications  were  only  touched  upon  lightly  in 
order  to  avoid  breaking  the  main  thread  of  the  discussion.  We 
shall  now  proceed  more  synthetically  and  look  at  the^  subject  from 
above  downward,  taking  man  as  we  find  him  with  the  differentiation 
in  its  present  advanced  stage,  and  shall  endeavor  to  recognize  the 
creative  products  of  the  phylogenetic  forces  and  arrange  them  in 
their  logical  rather  than  their  serial  order. 

As  a  basis  for  their  systematic  treatment  they  may  therefore  be 
named  and  arranged,  and  each  product  or  group  of  forces  treated  in 
the  order  adopted,  so  that  nothing  essential  may  be  overlooked 
or  omitted.  As  the  phylogeuetic  forces  must  consist  in  different 
modes  of  manifestation  of  the  one  general  force,  love,  the  classifica- 
tion becomes  that  of  the  different  kinds  of  love,  in  so  far  as  that 
sentiment,  or  psychic  unit,  has  undergone  differentiation.  Thus 
viewed,  there  are  five  kinds  of  love  that  are  sufficiently  distinct  to 
be  separately  treated,  but  all  of  which  are  genetically  connected, 
and  all  but  one,  or  two  at  the  most,  are  derivative.  As  they  are  all 
trunks  or  branches  there  can  be  no  serial  or  lineal  order  of  arrange- 
ment, And  the  order  adopted  is  rather  convenient  than  either  genetic 
or  chronological.  The  special  reasons  for  preferring  this  order  will 
appear  as  we  proceed. 

The  sociologist  recognizes  the  five  following  modes  of  manifesta- 
tion of  the  phylogenetic  forces,  or  forms  of  love :  — 

1.  Natural  love.  4.    Maternal  love. 

2.  Romantic  love.  5.    Consanguineal  love. 

3.  Conjugal  love. 

These  will  be  treated  in  the  above  order. 


cii.  xiv]  NATURAL  LOVE  379 

Natural  Love.  —  Natural  love  is  the  innate  interest  created  by  the 
principle  of  advantage  and  implanted,  primarily  in  the  male,  to 
secure  fertilization  and  the  crossing  of  strains  and  thus  to  keep  up 
a  difference  of  potential  in  the  organic  world.  It  is  therefore  a 
typical  dynamic  principle,  such  as  those  dealt  with  in  Chapter  XI. 
It  is  the  original  form  of  all  love,  and  all  other  forms  are  deriva- 
tives of  it.  It  is  the  main  trunk  of  jvhich  the  rest  are  branches,  a 
trunk  that  may  be  called  mouopodial  (see  supra,  p.  72),  since  no 
one  nor  all  the  branches  together  tend  to  draw  off  appreciably  from 
its  vigor,  and  it  is  still  found  in  full  strength  even  in  those  individ- 
uals, races,  and  peoples  who  possess  the  derivative  forms  in  their 
highest  development.  This  is  because  the  derivative  forms  alone 
are  powerless  to  secure  the  primary  ends  of  reproduction  and  varia- 
tion, and  however  much  a  refined  sentiment  may  deprecate  the 
necessity  it  remains,  and  seems  likely  to  remain,  a  necessity. 

The  fundamental  reason  why  natural  love  is  deprecated  by 
developed  minds  is  that  it  involves  a  mechanical  adjustment. 
During  the  second  or  metaphysical  stage  of  development  of  human 
thought  matter  was  held  to  be  vile  and  only  the  spiritual,  including 
mind,  was  considered  pure.  This  conception  prevailed  far  into  the 
positive  stage;  but  science,  which  is  the  essence  of  the  positive 
world  view,  teaches  the  spirituality  of  matter,  and  is  fast  dispelling 
the  false  metaphysical  attitude  with  regard  to  it.  It  is  therefore 
probable  that  the  purity  of  natural  love  and  of  all  the  adjustments 
necessary  to  fertilization  will  ultimately  be  recognized  by  all  en- 
lightened minds. 

Nevertheless,  most  philosophers  have  regarded  it  as  a  duty  to 
condemn  the  only  act  by  which  the  race  can  be  preserved.  Kant 
says,  "In  this  act  a  man  makes  himself  a  thing;  which  contradicts 
the  right  of  man  to  his  own  person." 1  Schopenhauer  explains  it  by 
the  assumption  that  when  the  "  young,  innocent,  human  intellect " 
first  learned  of  this  great  secret  of  the  universe  it  "  shuddered  at 
its  enormity." 2  Tolstoi  would  have  an  end  of  all  sexual  relations 
and  let  the  consequences  take  care  of  themselves !  He  insists  with 
considerable  truth  that  this  is  true  Christian  doctrine,  and  says: 

1  "  In  diesem  Akt  macht  sich  ein  Mensch  selbst  zur  Sache,  welches  dem  Rechteder 
Menschheit  an  seiner  eigenen  Person  widerstreitet,"  "Metaphysik  der  Sitten,"  Erster 
Theil,  §  25.    Sammtliche  Werke,  Leipzig,  1838,  neunter  Theil,  p.  91  ;  1868,  Vol.  VII, 
p.  77. 

2  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  3d  edition,  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  II,  p.  653. 


380  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

Let  us  suppose  that  perfect  chastity,  that  Christian  ideal,  be  realized ; 
what  would  happen?  We  should  find  ourselves  simply  in  accord  with 
religion,  one  of  the  dogmas  of  which  is  that  the  world  is  to  have  an  end, 
and  with  science,  which  teaches  that  the  sun  is  gradually  losing  its  heat, 
which  will  in  time  accomplish  the  extinction  of  the  human  race.1 

A  modern  American  writer,  Dr.  George  M.  Gould,  seems  to  take 
a  somewhat  similar  view  when, he  speaks  of  "the  universal  fig-leaf; 
the  universal  shame  and  secrecy ;  the  silent  contempt  of  this  self 
for  that  self ;  the  disgust  of  soul  at  sense ;  the  commingled  loathing 
and  yet  doing  —  such  spontaneous  emotions  point  to  the  fact  that 
God  also  feels  that  way  too." 2 

Comte,  although  the  founder  of  the  positive  philosophy  destined 
to  dispel  all  these  unnatiTral  illusions  relative  to  the  essential  turpi- 
tude of  sex  relations,  had  not  himself  sufficiently  emerged  from  the 
metaphysical  stage  to  free  himself  from  their  influence,  and  he  pro- 
posed a  solution  of  his  own  of  the  vexed  problem.  The  Grand  fltre, 
Humanity,  must  not  be  rendered  mortal  by  neglect  of  reproduction, 
but  this  must  be  accomplished  in  a  manner  consistent  with  perfect 
chastity.  Hence  his  "  bold  hypothesis," 3  oftener  called  "  utopia," 4 
of  the  Virgin-Mother,  according  to  which  procreation  is  to  become  a 
function  "  exclusively  feminine,"  a  sort  of  voluntary  parthenogenesis 
which  will  reconcile  maternity  with  virginity.  Notwithstanding  the 
number  of  times  he  returns  to  the  subject,  not  only  in  this  volume, 
but  also  in  his  Testament,  and  the  somewhat  extended  discussions 
of  it,  after  reading  it  all  with  special  care,  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  precise  process  that  he  proposes  to  adopt.  It  seems, 
however,  to  be  primarily  one  of  artificial  self  fertilization  with  the 
cooperation  of  man  at  least  at  first ;  but  he  seems  to  suppose  that  in 
the  course  of  time,  woman,  by  concentrating  her  attention  upon  it, 
may  ultimately  succeed  in  restoring  the  long-lost  power  possessed 
by  the-  lower  forms  of  life,  not  only  of  parthenogenesis,  or  lucina 
sine  concubitu,  but  of  complete  asexual  reproduction.  Needless  to 
say,  Comte  had  no  biological  training  for  such  a  task,  and  the 
"  utopia  "  is  wholly  wild  and  unscientific.  Still  less  did  he  realize 
the  effect  that  continuous  self  fertilization  would  have  on  human 

1  "  Des  relations  entre  les  sexes."     Plaisirs  vicieux,  p.  129. 

2  "  The  Meaning  and  the  Method  of  Life.    A  Search  for  Religion  in  Biology,"  by 
George  M.  Gould,  New  York  and  London,  1893,  p.  169. 

8  "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  IV,  p.  68. 
*  Ibid.,  pp.  241,  276,  304,  etc. 


CH.  xiv]  NATURAL   LOVE  381 

progress.  It  would  be  a  return  to  the  protosocial  if  not  to  the 
protozoan  stage.  Surely  it  is  better  to  trust  to  the  natura  naturans 
than  to  the  erratic  drearnings  of  philosophers  who  are  guided  by 
pure  reason.  The  deeper  we  penetrate  the  secrets  of  nature  the 
less  do  the  mechanical,  material,  and  physical  processes  seem  to 
differ  from  psychic  and  spiritual  processes,  and  all  will  ultimately 
prove  to  be  the  same. 

The  same  metaphysical  state  of  mind  that  has  led  to  all  these 
absurd  attempts  to  nullify  the  phylogenetic  forces  and  to  invent 
artificial  schemes  to  avoid  nature's  ways  of  securing  the  continuance 
of  the  race,  is  responsible  also  for  the  general  tendency  to  under- 
rate and  belittle  sexiial  matters  in  society,  to  keep  them  perpetually 
in  the  background,  and  to  maintain  the  utmost  possible  ignorance 
of  them  on  the  part  of  the  youth  of  both  sexes.  The  reason  why 
this  method  fails  and  leads  to  such  unhappy  results  as  it  is  now 
known  to  do  is  that  it  puts  forward  a  falsehood,  viz.,  that  such 
matters  are  unimportant,  when  in  fact  they  are  the  most  vital  of 
all  the  subjects  of  human  contemplation.  As  Schopenhauer  says :  — 

When  we  consider  the  important  role  that  sexual  love  in  all  its  grades 
and  shades  plays,  not  only  in  drama  and  fiction  but  also  in  the  real  world, 
where,  next  to  the  love  of  life,  it  shows  itself  the  most  active  of  all  impulses, 
constantly  absorbs  half  of  the  powers  arid  thoughts  of  the  more  youthful 
portion  of  mankind,  is  the  final  goal  of  almost  every  human  effort,  exerts  a 
fatal  influence  upon  the  most  important  events,  interrupts  the  most  serious 
occupations  at  every  hour,  sometimes  drives  the  greatest  heads  for  a  time 
into  delirium,  does  not  hesitate  to  disturb  the  transactions  of  statesmen  and 
the  investigations  of  savants  by  bringing  in  its  love  letters  and  locks  of  hair 
and  slipping  them  into  ministerial  portfolios  and  philosophical  manuscripts, 
plots  daily  the  most  involved  and  wicked  intrigues,  dissolves  the  most 
worthy  relations,  rends  the  strongest  bonds,  sacrifices  to  itself  sometimes 
life  or  health,  sometimes  wealth,  rank,  and  happiness,  nay,  even,  makes  the 
honorable  conscienceless,  the  faithful  traitors,  and  becomes  a  fiendish  demon 
seeking  to  pervert,  confound,  and  overthrow  all  things ;  —  we  are  naturally 
moved  to  cry  out :  Why  all  this  fuss  ?  What  means  this  rush  and  roar, 
this  anguish  and  despair  ?  The  simple  meaning  is  that  every  Jack  has  his 
Jill.  But  why  should  such  a  trifle  play  so  great  a  role  and  continually  bring 
disturbance  and  confusion  into  the  well-regulated  life  of  man  ?  But  to  the 
serious  inquirer  the  mind  gradually  reveals  the  true  answer  :  It  is  not  a 
trifle  with  which  we  are  dealing  here ;  it  is  a  matter  whose  importance  is 
fully  commensurate  with  the  zeal  and  eagerness  with  which  it  is  pursued. 
The  ultimate  purpose  of  every  love  affair,  whether  it  be  played  in  sock  or 
buskin,  is  more  important  than  any  other  purpose  in  human  life,  and 


382  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

therefore  altogether  worthy  of  the  profound  seriousness  with  which  it  is 
prosecuted.1 

The  power  of  natural  love  can  scarcely  be  exaggerated. 

To  taste  amorous  pleasures  [says  Letourneau]  was  the  great  preoccupa- 
tion and  the  great  joy  of  the  islanders  of  Tahiti  and  the  Society  Isles.  To 
vary  their  enjoyment  they  would  often  travel  from  one  island  to  another, 
and  they  conceived  the  famous  society  of  the  Areois,  of  which  a  few  words 
must  now  be  said.  Among  the  ancient  Mexicans,  the  very  ancient  ones, 
those  of  the  eleventh  century,  there  existed  a  sect  called  the  Ixcuinames,  the 
members  of  which,  in  a  country  where  the  women  were  nevertheless  required 
to  eat  apart,  feasted  and  drank  together  without  distinction  of  sex  and  lived 
in  a  state  of  promiscuity.  The  members  of  this  sect  constantly  gave  them- 
selves up  to  orgies  and  obscene  practices,  mingling  it  all  with  religious  cere- 
monies and  sacrificing  human  victims.  This  is  exactly  what  the  Areois  did, 
and  this  analogy  is  an  argument  to  be  invoked  in  favor  of  the  American 
origin  of  a  part  of  the  Polynesians. 

In  Tahiti,  in  the  Marquesas,  etc.,  the  association  of  the  Areois  had  a  reli- 
gious color.  In  many  countries  and  among  many  races  man  has  thus  placed 
his  pleasures  and  his  passions  under  the  guardianship  of  heaven.  The  soci- 
ety of  the  Areois  was  a  freemasonry  at  once  mystic  and  lascivious  (lubrique), 
under  the  patronage  of  the  god  Oro,  son  of  Taaroa,  the  Polynesian  Jehovah. 
No  one  was  admitted  into  the  fraternity  without  difficulty.  After  a  long 
noviciate,  the  candidate,  painted  red  and  yellow,  must  first  have,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  future  colleagues,  an  attack  of  religious  delirium.  In  a  second 
trial,  succeeding  the  first,  after  long  months  or  even  years,  he  would  solemnly 
swear  to  put  to  death  all  the  children  that  he  should  have.  From  this  mo- 
ment he  belonged  to  the  seventh  and  last  class  of  the  society ;  here  he  learned 
songs,  dances,  sacred  mimics,  which  formed  the  ritual  of  the  Areois.  No 
one  could  rise  through  the  grades  of  the  fraternity  except  at  the  price  of 
tests  and  new  ceremonies,  and  a  special  mode  of  tattooing  distinguished  each 
grade  of  membership. 

The  object  of  the  religious  association  of  which  we  are  speaking  was  the 
satisfaction,  without  rein  or  limit,  of  amorous  wants,  and  for  all  the  mem- 
bers infanticide  was  a  duty.  Among  the  members  of  the  society,  all  the 
women  being  common  to  all  the  men,  the  cohabitation  of  each  couple  scarcely 
lasted  more  than  two  or  three  days.  Life  was  thus  spent  in  perpetual  feasts. 
They  celebrated,  they  wrestled,  they  sang ;  the  women  danced  the  amorous 
Timorodie.  The  first  duty  of  every  female  member  was  to  strangle  her  chil- 
dren at  the  moment  of  their  birth ;  if,  however,  a  new-born  child  should  live 
even  a  half -hour,  it  was  saved.  To  gain  the  right  to  keep  her  child  a  woman 
must  find  among  the  members  a  father  of  adoption ;  but  she  was  driven  out 
of  the  association  and  stigmatized  with  the  name  of  "  child-maker."  2 

1  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  3d  ed.,  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  II,  pp.  608-609. 

2  "  La  Sociologie,"  etc.,  pp.  56-58.    Given  chiefly  on  the  authority  of  Moerenhaut, 
"  Voyages  aux  lies  du  Grand  Ocean,"  1837,  Vol.  I,  pp.  484-503.    Letourneau  omits 
certain  important  qualifications  that  Moerenhaut  makes  to  the  above. 


CH.  xiv]  NATURAL   LOVE  383 

There  is  no  accounting  for  what  the  untutored  reason  of  man  will 
do  if  given  free  rein,  and  the  above  is  an  example  of  the  complete 
triumph  of  feeling  over  function  aided  even  by  religious  sanction. 
And  although  it  has  usually  been  the  mission  of  religion  to  counter- 
act such  race-destroying  tendencies,  the  Polynesians  are  by  no  means 
the  only  peoples  whose  religion  has  tended  in  the  contrary  direction. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  go  further  than  to  mention  the  widespread 
institution  of  a  celibate  priesthood,  which  has  robbed  the  world  of  a 
large  share  of  the  advantage  that  it  would  naturally  derive  from  the 
existence  of  a  leisure  class.  Although  not  confined  to  Christianity, 
that  sect  has  extensively  practiced  this  anti-social  cult,  and  this  at  a 
time  and  place  in  the  history  of  mankind  when  it  produced  its  most 
pernicious  effects.  M.  de  Candolle,1  and  also  Mr.  Galton,2  have  suf- 
ficiently emphasized  this  truth. 

Another  indication  of  the  power  of  the  phylogenetic  forces  is  the 
great  prevalence  among  uncivilized  peoples  of  the  worship  of  the 
emblems  of  fecundity.  Here  natural  love  connects  itself  spontane- 
ously with  religion  and  forms  an  integral  part  of  the  great  volume  of 
religious  feeling.  This  subject  of  phallic  worship  or  phallicism, 
often  extending  to  phalloktenism,  has  a  voluminous  literature,  and 
in  many  parts  of  the  world  symbols  in  stone,  in  bronze,  and  even  in 
gold,  have  been  found,  some  of  which  have  found  their  way  into 
archaeological  museums.  Japanese  relics  of  this  cult,  now  abandoned 
in  that  country,  are  very  abundant,  and  Dr.  Edmund  Buckley  not 
long  since  compiled  a  somewhat  complete  list  of  them  and  prepared 
a  most  interesting  and  instructive  paper  on  the  subject.3  It  is  quite 
unnecessary  to  enter  into  this  literature  or  to  discuss  the  general 
subject  here.  It  only  concerns  us  to  point  out  its  significance  as  a 
normal  fact  in  the  history  of  the  race. 

It  is  difficult  for  civilized  people  to  place  themselves  in  a  position 
to  see  how  such  a  cult  naturally  arose.  The  irresistible  tendency  is 
to  look  at  it  as  something  abnormal.  With  most  persons  the  ab- 
normal is  that  which  differs  from  existing  and  familiar  things.  But 
it  should  not  require  a  very  strong  reasoning  power  to  perceive  that 
so  powerful  a  motor  as  natural  love  in  a  race  that  had  not  yet  ac- 

1  "  Histoire  des  Sciences  et  des  Savants,"  2«  ed.,  1885,  pp.  149  ff. 

2  "Hereditary  Genius,"  pp.  343  ff. 

8  "Phallicism  in  Japan,"  a  Dissertation  presented  to  the  Faculty  of  Arts,  Litera- 
ture, and  Science,  of  the  University  of  Chicago,  by  Edmund  Buckley,  Chicago,  1895. 
Printed  by  the  University  of  Chicago  Press. 


384  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

quired  any  of  the  conventional  ideas  that  now  prevail  with  regard 
to  it,  must  result  in  institutions  in  some  degree  commensurate  with 
it  in  importance.  What  they  would  be  might  be  hard  to  predict 
a  priori,  but  when  we  find  an  almost  universal  cult  based  on  that  fact 
it  is  not  more  than  we  should  naturally  expect.  At  that  stage  every- 
thing tends  to  assume  a  religious  form,  and  there  is  nothing  more 
natural  than  that  this  should  do  so.  Neither  is  it  just  or  correct  to- 
call  such  a  cult  base  and  sensual.  While  feeling,  no  doubt,  was  a, 
prime  mover,  men  had  not  yet  learned  to  regard  this  particular  form 
of  feeling  as  lower  or  less  worthy  than  other  forms.  But  all  these 
phallic  cults  must  have  arisen  long  after  it  had  become  universally 
known  that  these  organs  are  the  seat  of  fecundity,  and  the  group 
consciousness  of  race  preservation  naturally  and  justly  clothed  them 
with  all  the  dignity  that  belongs  to  whatever  preserves  and  strengthens 
the  race.  We  can  imagine  their  ceremonies  as  largely  reflecting  this 
high  functional  sentiment  and  as  often  wholly  devoid  of  any  other 
feeling.  In  fact  there  are  none  of  the  more  advanced  religions  that 
do  not  embody  survivals  of  primitive  phallicism.  Sex  is  in  some 
way  always  interwoven  into  all  mythologies,  theogonies,  cosmogonies, 
and  religions.  Where  is  there  one  without  it  ?  It  is  now  generally 
admitted  by  scholars  that  in  the  Hebrew  cosmogony  the  "fall  of 
man  "  simply  typifies  the  sexual  act,  the  "  forbidden  fruit."  That 
cosmogony  was  just  above  the  point  at  which  the  sense  of  shame  had 
come  to  form  a  part  of  the  psychic  constitution  of  man.  Adam  and 
Eve  were  naked  and  were  not  ashamed,  but  the  partaking  of  the 
forbidden  fruit  brought  shame  into  the  world. 

Buddhistic  and  Christian  asceticism,  and,  whether  religious,  philosophic, 
or  sensualistic,  pessimism  generally,  has  represented  the  beauty  of  woman  and 
sexual  love  as  the  baiting  of  the  devil's  hook.  With  unexampled  clearness 
and  splendid  analysis  the  great  Schopenhauer  has  set  forth  this  view,  and  if 
he  had  but  put  God  in  the  place  of  his  diabolic  will  (blind,  and  yet,  illogi- 
cally  enough,  superbly,  even  fiendishly,  cunning)  the  exposition  would  have 
stood  as  a  marvel  of  physiologico-philosophic  reasoning  and  description.1 

Haeckel,  more  rationally,  and  from  the  highest  scientific  stand- 
point, takes  us  entirely  across  the  whole  field  of  organic  life  and 
eloquently  shows  that  the  sexual  passion,  everywhere  and  always, 
has  been  the  great  life-tonic  of  the  world,  the  sublimest  and  most 
exalted  as  well  as  the  purest  and  noblest  of  impulses :  — 

i  "  The  Meaning  and  the  Method  of  Life,"  by  George  M.  Gould,  1893,  p.  164. 


CH.  xiv]  NATURAL  LOVE  385 

If  we  once  reflect  what  an  extraordinarily  important  r61e  the  relation  of 
the  two  sexes  has  played  everywhere  in  organic  nature,  in  the  kingdom  of 
plants,  in  animal  and  human  life  ;  how  that  mutual  affection  and  attraction 
of  both  sexes,  love,  is  the  moving  cause  of  the  most  manifold  and  remarka- 
ble processes,  nay,  one  of  the  most  important  mechanical  causes  of  the  high- 
est differentiation  of  life,  we  shall  not  be  able  too  highly  to  appreciate  this 
reference  of  love  to  its  original  source,  to  the  attractive  power  of  two  differ- 
ent cells.  Everywhere  in  living  nature  there  flow  the  greatest  effects  from 
this  small  cause.  Think  only  of  the  role  that  the  flowers,  the  sexual  organs 
of  flowering  plants,  play  in  nature ;  or  think  of  the  array  of  wonderful  phe- 
nomena that  sexual  selection  produces  in  the  animal  world ;  think,  finally, 
of  the  weighty  significance  that  love  possesses  for  human  life  :  in  every  case 
the  single,  original,  impelling  motive  is  the  union  of  two  cells ;  everywhere 
it  is  this  simple  process  that  is  exerting  so  great  an  influence  upon  the  devel- 
opment of  the  most  manifold  relations.  We  may  indeed  assert  that  no  other 
organic  process  will  bear  the  most  remote  comparison  with  this  in  the  extent 
and  intensity  of  its  differentiating  effect.  For,  is  not  the  Semitic  myth  of 
Eve,  who  tempted  Adam  to  partake  of  "knowledge,"  and  is  not  the  old  Greek 
legend  of  Paris  and  Helen,  and  are  not  so  many  other  classic  fictions,  merely 
the  poetic  expressions  of  the  immeasurable  influence  which  love  and  sexual 
selection,  which  depends  upon  it,  have,  since  the  differentiation  of  the  two 
sexes,  exerted  upon  the  course  of  the  history  of  the  world?  All  other 
passions  that  surge  through  the  human  breast  are  far  less  potent  in  their 
combined  effect  than  the  passion  of  love  which  inflames  the  senses  and 
mocks  the  intellect.  On  the  one  hand  we  should  gratefully  honor  love  as 
the  source  of  the  most  glorious  works  of  art,  the  loftiest  creations  of  poetry, 
of  sculpture,  painting,  and  music ;  we  should  recognize  in  it  the  most  power- 
ful factor  in  human  morals,  the  basis  of  family  life  and  of  the  development 
of  the  state.  On  the  other  hand  we  have  to  fear  in  it  the  devouring  flame 
which  drives  the  unfortunate  to  destruction,  and  which  has  caused  more  sor- 
row, vice,  and  crime  than  all  the  other  evils  of  the  human  race  combined. 
So  wonderful  is  love  and  so  infinitely  important  is  its  influence  upon  the 
soul  life,  upon  the  most  varied  functions  of  the  nervous  system,  that  here, 
more  than  anywhere  else,  the  "  supernatural  "  effects  seem  to  baffle  all  natu- 
ral explanation.  And  yet,  despite  all,  comparative  biology  and  the  history 
of  organic  development  clearly  and  unequivocally  lead  us  back  to  the  sim- 
plest source  of  love,  to  the  affinities  of  two  different  cells :  sperm  cell  and 
germ  cell.1 

Commenting  upon  this  remarkable  passage  in  Haeckel's  "  Anthro- 
pogenie"  at  the  time  that  the  first  German  edition  appeared,  and 
partially  paraphrasing  parts  of  it  in  a  review  of  the  work,  I  said :  — 

1 "  Anthropogenic,  oder  Entwickelungsgeschichte  des  Menschen,"  von  Ernst 
Haeckel  Leipzig,  1874,  pp.  656-657.  Vierte,  umgearbeitete  und  vermehrte  Auflage, 
Leipzig,  1891,  pp.  792-793.  Very  slightly  changed  in  the  fourth  edition.  The  last 
lines  in  spaced  letters  here  read,  "  Wahlverwandtschaft  zweier  verschiedener  ero- 
tischer  Zellen:  Spermzelle  und  Eizelle  (Erotishcher  Chemotropismus) ." 
2c 


386  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

From  another  point  of  view,  this  union  and  literal  blending  of  the  male 
and  female  principles  is  not  only  of  the  highest  intellectual  interest,  but  is 
calculated  to  awaken  the  most  lively  esthetic  sentiments.  Nothing  more 
poetic  or  romantic  has  ever  been  presented  to  the  human  fancy  by  all  the 
fictions  of  the  world  than  the  marvellous  reality  of  this  courtship  of  cells ! 
The  very  fountain-head  of  love  (Urquelle  der  Liebe)  is  reached  in  the  affini- 
ties of  two  cells  !  The  ruling  passion  of  all  ages  has  its  ultimate  basis  in 
this  new-found  physiological  fact.  When  the  march  of  science  shall  have 
exposed  the  false  basis  upon  which  the  present  artificial  code  of  social  life 
rests,  and  when  the  fears  of  those  who  can  imagine  nothing  better  shall 
have  been  dispelled,  then  let  the  future  Homer  of  science  sing,  not  the 
illicit  loves  of  Paris  and  Helen,  which  whelm  great  nations  in  untimely 
ruin,  but  the  lawful  wooings  and  the  heroic  sacrifices  of  the  sperm-cell  and 
the  germ-cell  as  they  rush  into  that  embrace  which  annihilates  both  that  a 
great  and  advancing  race  may  not  perish  from  the  earth !  And  here  there 
is  no  fiction,  there  is  not  even  speculation.  Both  the  plot  and  the  details  of 
this  tale  belong  to  the  domain  of  established  fact,  and  rest  upon  the  most 
thorough  scientific  investigation.1 

The  purity  and  nobility  of  natural  love  have  been  perceived  by  all 
truly  great  minds,  but  few  have  had  the  courage  to  speak  a  word  in 
favor  of  its  redemption  from  the  false  and  hypocritical  odium  that  a 
Pharisaical  world  seeks  to  cast  upon  it.  All  the  more,  then,  should 
we  prize  such  sentiments  as  the  following  from  the  noble  soul  of 
Condorcet :  — 

Would  nature  have  lavished  upon  man  so  many  charms,  would  she  have 
enriched  him  with  so  many  sources  of  delight,  only  to  couple  with  them  dis- 
gust, shame,  and  remorse?  These  desires  which  plunge  us  into  a  voluptu- 
ous intoxication,  even  while  they  agitate  and  torment  us,  are  still  pleasures 
to  which  those  of  no  other  senses  can  be  compared;  those  enjoyments  that 
infuse  into  all  the  organs  of  sense  separately  or  all  at  once  more  and  more 
delicious  sensations,  lead  by  degrees  to  that  instant  of  delirium  in  which  all 
our  faculties  are  absorbed  in  one  single  faculty,  that  of  tasting  pleasure ; 
those  pleasures  that  often  even  exceed  our  physical  powers  of  experiencing 
happiness,  unite  again  in  all  that  moral  sensibility  can  create  of  delight 
in  the  union  of  two  souls  abandoned  to  each  other,  all  whose  movements  are 
mutually  communicated  to  each  other,  all  sentiments  'blended  and  all 
joys  doubled  in  being  shared;  finally,  what  seems  to  exceed  all  bounds 
of  felicity,  each  enjoys,  in  addition  to  his  own  and  her  own  happiness, 
the  thought  that  the  being  loved  is  experiencing  the  same  happiness,  and 

i  Haeckel's  "  Genesis  of  Man,  or  History  of  the  Development  of  the  Human  Race," 
The  Penn  Monthly,  Philadelphia,  Vol.  VIII,  No.  88,  April,  1877,  pp.  266-284  ;  No.  89, 
May,  1877,  pp.  348-367  ;  No.  91,  July,  1877,  pp.  528-548.  Also  revised,  combined,  and 
published  under  the  same  title  as  a  pamphlet,  with  a  preface,  Philadelphia,  1879,  64 
pages,  8°.  The  passage  above  quoted  occurs  on  pp.  355-356  of  the  Penn  Monthly 
for  May,  1877,  and  on  pp.  31-32  of  the  pamphlet  referred  to. 


CH.  xiv]  NATURAL  LOVE  387 

that  this  is  his  own  and  her  own  work  1  Thus  nature  has  united  for  man,  at 
one  and  the  same  instant,  to  the  delirious  pleasure  of  sense  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  delighted  soul,  and  has  lavished  upon  him  at  once  all  that  the  most 
diverse  sources  of  enjoyment  can  yield  that  is  most  intimate,  most  sweet,  and 
most  rapturous. 

But  a  calmer  joy  succeeds  this  delirium,  mingles  with  all  the  feelings,  with 
all  ideas,  and  spreads  over  the  entire  life.  A  tender,  sole,  abandoned  love, 
for  which  there  can  no  longer  exist  a  sacrifice,  arises,  feeds  on  the  memory 
of  moments  of  delight,  on  the  hope  of  their  renewal,  on  the  sweet  thought 
of  mutually  owing  this  happiness  to  each  other,  of  being  capable  at  any 
moment  of  being  the  cause  the  one  for  the  other  of  pleasures  continually  re- 
newed ;  a  charm  which  no  other  form  of  bond  is  capable  of  calling  forth.1 

That  such  a  tremendous  power  in  society  should  require  regulation 
goes  without  saying,  but  what  are  all  marriage  systems  but  modes  of 
regulating  this  power?  And  here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  is 
Bacon's  aphorism  true  that  "  we  can  only  conquer  Nature  by  obey- 
ing her."2  It  can  of  course  be  controlled  according  to  the  principles 
set  forth  in  Chapter  IX,  but  cannot,  any  more  than  any  other  natural 
force,  be  destroyed  or  suppressed.  It  can  only  be  directed.  But  it 
may  be  wrongly  as  well  as  rightly  directed.  It  may  be  made  to 
flow  in  dangerous  as  well  as  in  safe  channels.  In  general  it  may  be 
said  that  man  has  succeeded  fairly  well  in  his  attempts  to  direct  the 
phylogenetic  forces,  chiefly  through  marriage  systems,  which  have 
usually  grown  out  of  manifest  necessities.  But  the  higher  flights  of 
the  reason,  guided  largely  by  the  fact  above  noted  that  in  the  meta- 
physical stage  the  sexual  act  shocks  the  pure  intellect,  on  account  of 
its  ignorance  of  the  spiritual  nature  of  matter,  have  chiefly  aimed 
to  direct  these  forces  into  injurious  channels.  All  denials  of  their 
legitimate  claims,  and  all  schemes  for  eliminating  them  from  society, 
all  measures  that  tend  to  stigmatize  them  and  render  them  criminal 
in  human  law,  simply  make  them  evil  in  their  effects,  while  in  and 
of  themselves  they  are  good. 

The  phylogenetic  forces  are  somewhat  exceptional  in  that  they  are 
to  some  extent  subject  to  the  individual  will.  Unlike  the  onto- 
genetic  forces,  their  suppression  in  the  case  of  any  particular 
individual  does  not  result  in  death.  From  this  has  arisen  the  false 

1 "  Tableau,"  etc.,  pp.  363-364. 

2  "  Neque  natnra  aliter  quam  parendo  vincitur."  Novum  Organum.  Distribu- 
tioOperis.  "Works,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1869,  p.  227.  "Natura  .  .  .  non  nisi  parendo 
vincitur."  Aphorism  III,  ibid.,  p.  241.  "Natures  .  .  .  non  imperatur,  nisi  parendo." 
Ibid.,  Aphorism  CXXIX,  p.  337. 


888  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

idea  that  they  are  capable  of  permanent  suppression  with  impunity. 
All  who  are  competent  to  speak  upon  this  question  agree  that  this  is 
not  the  case.  On  this  point  Mr.  Spencer  remarks :  — 

Such  part  of  the  organization  as  is  devoted  to  the  production  of  offspring 
can  scarcely  be  left  inert  and  leave  the  rest  of  the  organization  unaffected. 
The  not  infrequent  occurrence  of  hysteria  and  chlorosis  shows  that  women, 
in  whom  the  reproductive  function  bears  a  larger  ratio  to  the  totality  of  the 
functions  than  it  does  in  men,  are  apt  to  suffer  grave  constitutional  evils 
from  that  incompleteness  of  life  which  celibacy  implies  ;  grave  evils  to  which 
there  probably  correspond  smaller  and  unperceived  evils  in  numerous  cases. 
.  .  .  That  the  physiological  effects  of  a  completely  celibate  life  on  either 
sex  are  to  some  extent  injurious,  seems  an  almost  necessary  implication  of 
the  natural  conditions. 

But  whether  or  not  there  be  disagreement  on  this  point,  there  can  be 
none  respecting  the  effects  of  a  celibate  life  as  mentally  injurious.  A  large 
part  of  the  nature  —  partly  intellectual  but  chiefly  emotional  —  finds  its 
sphere  of  action  in  the  marital  relation,  and  afterwards  in  the  parental 
relation ;  and  if  this  sphere  be  closed,  some  of  the  higher  feelings  must 
remain  inactive  and  others  but  feebly  active.  Directly,  to  special  elements 
of  the  mind,  the  relation  established  by  marriage  is  the  normal  and  needful 
stimulus,  and  indirectly  to  all  its  elements.1 

Still  more  plainly  speaks  Dr.  Maudsley :  — 

The  sexual  passion  is  one  of  the  strongest  passions  in  nature,  and  as  soon 
as  it  comes  into  activity,  it  declares  its  influence  on  every  pulse  of  the 
organic  life,  revolutionizing  the  entire  nature,  conscious  and  unconscious ; 
when,  therefore,  the  means  of  its  gratification  entirely  fail,  and  when  there 
is  no  vicarious  outlet  for  its  energy,  the  whole  system  feels  the  effects,  and 
exhibits  them  in  restlessness  and  irritability,  in  a  morbid  self-feeling  taking 
a  variety  of  forms.2 

The  most  common  of  these  abnormal  forms  that  the  permanent 
suppression  of  the  phylogenetic  forces  assumes  is  that  of  mysticism, 
which  is  a  sort  of  disease  due  to  sexual  cerebration.  Krafft-Ebing* 
and  Tarnowsky 4  have  studied  this  question  and  find  that  mystics 
habitually  dream  of  a  sort  of  sexual  duality,  with  God  as  the  male 
and  the  soul  as  the  female  element,  or  with  Christ  and  the  church 

1  "  Principles  of  Ethics,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  534-535  (§  231). 

2  "  The  Physiology  and  Pathology  of  the  Mind,"  by  Henry  Maudsley,  London, 
1867,  pp.  203-204. 

8  "  Psychopathia  sexualis,"  von  R.  v.  Krafft-Ebing.  I  have  only  seen  the  English 
translation  by  Charles  Gilbert  Chaddock  of  the  seventh  German  edition,  Philadelphia 
and  London,  1892.  Of  this  cf.  pp.  9  ff . 

4  "The  Sexual  Instinct  and  its  Morbid  Manifestations  from  the  double  standpoint 
of  Medical  Jurisprudence  and  Psychiatry,"  by  B.  Tarnowsky.  Done  into  English 
now  for  the  first  time  by  W.  C.  Costello  and  Alfred  Allinson,  Paris. 


CH.  xiv]  NATURAL  LOVE  ,  389 

similarly  related,  and  that  they  continually  emphasize  these  rela- 
tions. Winiarsky  sums  up  the  conclusions  of  these  authors  and  of 
his  own  studies  of  the  same  subject  as  follows :  — 

Sexual  want  unsatisfied  and  arrested  is  transformed  into  a  whole  series 
of  psychic,  often  morbid  phenomena,  called  love.  This  takes  place  not  only 
among  individuals,  but  in  entire  societies.  An  unhappy  love  affair  in  cer- 
tain individuals  is  transformed  into  affection  for  their  fellow-beings:  thus 
it  is  that  certain  women  become  sisters  of  charity;  in  others  it  is  trans- 
formed into  poetry  —  it  is  thus  that  certain  poets  have  revealed  themselves  ; 
—  in  others,  finally,  it  becomes  mysticism :  this  the  history  of  the  saints 
attests.1 

But  whatever  may  be  the  power  of  particular  individuals  under 
the  influence  of  religious  or  philosophical  ideas  to  suppress  by  the 
exercise  of  the  will  the  spontaneous  demands  of  their  nature,  this 
must  always  be  confined  to  a  very  small  fraction  of  the  human  race, 
and  for  the  great  mass  of  mankind  no  such  considerations  can  have 
weight  or  check  the  perennial  flow  of  the  great  stream  of  passion 
that  surges  through  society.  As  Schopenhauer  says :  — 

From  these  considerations  it  is  made  clear  why  the  sexual  appetite  has 
a  character  very  different  from  every  other ;  it  is  not  only  the  strongest  but 
also  specifically  of  a  more  powerful  class  than  all  the  rest.  It  is  everywhere 
tacitly  recognized  as  necessary  and  inevitable,  and  is  not,  like  other  desires, 
a  matter  of  taste  and  of  caprice.  For  it  is  the  desire  which  itself  constitutes 
the  essence  of  man.2 

We  must  therefore  distinguish  between  individual  necessity  and 
social  necessity.  Sexual  satisfaction  is  a  social  necessity.  The  indi- 
vidual may  temporarily,  or  even  for  his  entire  life,  by  the  power  of 
his  will  under  one  or  other  delusion  of  the  intellect,  forego  it,  or  he 
may  be  forcibly  prevented  for  greater  or  less  periods  from  experi- 
encing it,  but  these  are  but  eddies  in  an  ocean  whose  waves  sweep 
daily  and  forever  from  shore  to  shore.  The  phylogenetic  forces  are 
as  irresistible  as  the  winds  that  cause  these  waves  or  as  the  tides 
that  periodically,  perpetually,  and  irrepressibly  wash  the  shores. 

Not  only  is  the  sexual  instinct  the  powerful  social  stimulus  that 
has  been  described,  but  it  is  also  an  essentially  social  bond.  The 
primary  association  is  necessarily  sexual.  Society  must  begin  with 
the  propagating  couple,  and  as  this  primary  association  necessarily 
increases  the  membership  of  the  group,  it  is  clear  that  the  basis  of 

l  Le'on  Winiarsky  in  Revue  Philosophlqw,  avril,  1898,  p.  371. 

a  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  II,  p.  585. 


390  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

society  must  be  sexual.  It  is  therefore  obvious  that  the  sociologist 
cannot  ignore  such  vital  considerations,  but  must  deal  with  sexual 
phenomena  as  with  other  social  phenomena.  It  is  not  maintained 
that  there  has  been  any  disposition  on  the  part  of  sociologists  to 
overlook  the  facts  of  primitive  group  life.  These  are  the  statical 
phenomena  that  always  receive  adequate  attention.  What  has  been 
overlooked,  ignored,  or  even  purposely  avoided,  is  the  dynamic  side 
of  the  subject.  Kinship  groups,  hordes,  clans,  gentes,  tribes,  states, 
and  nations  are  simply  effects.  They  should  not  absorb  all  atten- 
tion to  the  exclusion  of  the  causes  that  have  produced  them.  These 
causes  are  the  social  forces,  and  the  special  causes  of  this  class  of 
effects  are  the  phylogenetic  forces  that  form  the  subject  of  this  chap- 
ter. The  origin  and  development  in  society  according  to  natural 
laws  that  can  be  explained  scientifically,  of  the  sentiment  called 
modesty,  has  led  to  the  systematic  avoidance  of  so  vital  a  subject  as 
this,  and  has  consequently  left  the  story  of  the  world  only  half  told. 
In  fact,  human  history  and  sociology  as  they  now  exist  are  only  ex- 
purgated editions,  stale  and  lifeless  from  the  omission  of  the  main 
springs  that  have  ever  impelled  the  machinery  of  society. 

Romantic  Love.  —  All  social  forces  are  psychic,  and  in  that  sense 
spiritual.  The  application  to  any  of  them  of  the  term  physical, 
is  therefore  not  strictly  correct,  but  if  it  is  done  not  to  stigmatize 
them,  but  for  the  sake  of  distinguishing  some  from  others,  it  may 
be  justified  and  even  useful.  All  feeling  is  psychic,  but  feelings 
differ  in  many  ways,  and  among  others  in  a  certain  greater  or  less 
remoteness  from  their  physical  seat,  or  vagueness  and  indefiniteness 
with  regard  to  the  location  of  the  nerve  plexuses,  by  the  molecular 
activities  within  which  the  feelings  are  occasioned.  Another  differ- 
ence consists  in  the  degree  in  which  the  feeling  is  external  or  internal, 
and  still  another  is  that  of  the  relative  intensity  and  durability  of 
feelin'gs.  All  these  differences  are  more  or  less  correlated,  and  in 
general  those  feelings  which  are  most  vague  and  least  definitely 
located  in  the  body,  those  that  are  most  internal,  and  those  that  are 
least  intense  and  most  durable,  are  classed  as  more  spiritual,  more 
elevated,  and  more  refined.  And  in  fact,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
general  correctness  of  this  popular  view,  and,  as  has  already  been 
said,  the  true  reason  why  this  latter  class  of  feelings  is  regarded  as 
superior  is  that  they  yield  a  larger  aggregate  amount  of  satisfaction. 
Though  lower  from  the  standpoint  of  necessity,  since  they  are  not 


CH.  xiv]  ROMANTIC   LOVE  391 

essential  to  life,  they  are  higher  from  the  standpoint  of  utility,  i.e., 
they  are  worth  more  —  more  worthy. 

But  these  feelings  are  derivative,  and  are  the  consequences  of  a 
qualitative  development  of  the  physical  organization  of  man.  For 
it  is  not  the  brain  of  man  alone  that  has  developed.  The  brain  is 
only  one  of  the  many  nerve  plexuses  of  the  body,  and  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  it  is  the  only  one  that  has  undergone  struc- 
tural refinement.  The  brain  has  now  been  studied  and  the  chief 
causes  of  mental  superiority  have  been  discovered.  Primarily  brain 
mass  is  the  cause  of  intelligence,  and  until  the  process  of  cephaliza- 
tion  had  far  advanced  and  the  relatively  large  hemispheres  had  been 
superposed  upon  the  original  ganglionic  nucleus,  there  could  be  no 
advance  sufficient  to  constitute  rational  beings.  And  this  attained, 
other  things  equal,  increase  of  brain  mass  represents  increased  intel- 
ligence. But  this  is  far  from  being  the  whole.  There  took  place 
qualitative  changes,  and  brains  came  to  differ  in  kind  as  well  as  in 
size.  Since  the  period  of  social  assimilation  this  has  undoubtedly 
been  the  principal  advance  that  has  been  made.  The  cross  fertiliza- 
tion of  cultures  worked  directly  upon  these  qualitative  characters, 
rendering  the  most  thoroughly  mixed  races,  like  the  Greeks  and  the 
English,  highly  intelligent.  The  physiological  or  histological  cause 
of  this  improved  brain  structure  is  now  known  in  its  general  aspects. 
Brain  superiority  is  measured  chiefly,  first,  by  the  number  of  neurons 
in  a  cubic  millimeter  of  the  brain  substance,  and  second,  by  the  de- 
gree of  extension  and  ramification  of  the  plumose  panicles  that  pro- 
ceed from  the  summit  of  these  pyramidal  cells,  and  by  the  character 
of  the  axis  cylinder  at  their  bases. 

Now,  while  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  higher  brain  develop- 
ment vitally  influences  all  the  other  nerve  plexuses  of  the  body, 
since  every  conscious  feeling  must  be  referred  to  the  brain,  it  is  alto- 
gether probable  that  a  process  of  qualitative  improvement  has  also 
and  at  the  same  time  been  taking  place  in  the  entire  nervous  system, 
and  especially  in  the  great  centers  of  emotion,  and  if  the  serious 
study  of  these  plexuses  could  be  prosecuted,  as  has  been  that  of  the 
brain,  differences  would  in  all  probability  be  detected  capable  of 
being  described,  as  this  has  been  done  for  the  brain.  In  other 
words,  the  development  of  the  human  race  has  not  consisted  exclu- 
sively in  brain  development,  but  has  been  a  general  advance  in  all 
the  great  centers  of  spiritual  activity. 


392  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

It  is  this  psycho-physiological  progress  going  on  in  all  races  that 
have  undergone  repeated  and  compound  social  assimilation  that  has 
laid  the  foundation  for  the  appearance  in  the  most  advanced  races  of 
a  derivative  form  of  natural  love  which  is  known  as  romantic  love. 
It  is  a  comparatively  modern  product,  and  is  not  universal  among 
highly  assimilated  races.  In  fact,  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  practi- 
cally confined  to  what  is  generally  understood  as  the  Aryan  race,  or, 
at  most,  to  the  so-called  Europeans,  whether  actually  in  Europe  or 
whether  in  Australia,  America,  India,  or  any  other  part  of  the  globe. 
Further,  it  did  not  appear  in  a  perceptible  form  even  in  that  ethnic- 
stock  until  some  time  during  the  Middle  Ages.  Although  I  have 
held  this  opinion  much  longer,  I  first  expressed  it  in  1896.1  It  is 
curious  that  since  that  time  two  books  have  appeared  devoted  in 
whole  or  in  part  to  sustaining  this  view.2  There  is  certainly  no  sign 
of  the  derivative  sentiment  among  savages.  Monteiro,  speaking  of 
the  polygamous  peoples  of  Western  Africa,  says :  — 

The  negro  knows  not  love,  affection,  or  jealousy.  ...  In  all  the  long 
years  I  have  been  in  Africa  I  have  never  seen  a  negro  manifest  the  least 
tenderness  for  or  to  a  negress.  ...  I  have  never  seen  a  negro  put  his  arm 
round  a  woman's  waist,  or  give  or  receive  any  caress  whatever  that  would 
indicate  the  slightest  loving  regard  or  affection  on  either  side.  They  have 
no  words  or  expressions  in  their  language  indicative  of  affection  or  love.8 

Lichtenstein 4  says  of  the  Koossas:  "To  the  feeling  of  a  chaste 
tender  passion,  founded  on  reciprocal  esteem,  and  an  union  of  heart 
and  sentiment,  they  seem  entire  strangers."  Eyre  reports  the 
same  general  condition  of  things  among  the  natives  of  Australia,5 
and  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  find  statements  to  the  same  effect 
relative  to  savage  and  barbaric  races  in  all  countries  where  they  have 
been  made  the  subject  of  critical  study.  Certainly  all  the  romances 
of  such  races  that  have  been  written  do  but  reflect  the  sentiments  of 
their  writers,  and  are  worthless  from  any  scientific  point  of  view. 
This  is  probably  also  the  case  for  stories  whose  plot  is  laid  in  Asia, 

1  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VI,  July,  1896,  p.  453. 

2  "  Antiraachus  of  Colophon  and  the  Position  of  Women  in  Greek  Poetry,"  by  E. 
F.  M.   Benecke,  London,  1896.    "Primitive  Love  and  Love  Stories,"  by  Henry  T. 
Finck,  New  York,  1899. 

3  "Angola  and  the  River  Congo,"  by  Joachim  John  Monteiro.    In  two  volumes. 
London,  1875,  Vol.  I,  pp.  242-243. 

4  "Travels  in  Southern  Africa,"  in  the  years  1803,  1804,  1805,  and  1806,  by  Henry 
Lichtenstein,  English  translation,  Dublin,  1812,  p.  261. 

5  Journals,  etc.,  Vol.  II,  p.  321. 


CH.  xiv]  ROMANTIC   LOVE  393 

even  in  India,  and  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  seem  to  have  none  of 
the  romantic  ideas  of  the  West;  otherwise  female  virtue  would  not 
be  a  relative  term,  as  it  is  in  those  countries.  This  much  will  prob- 
ably be  admitted  by  all  who  understand  what  I  mean  by  romantic 
love.  The  point  of  dispute  is  therefore  apparently  narrowed  down 
to  the  question  whether  the  Ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  had  devel- 
oped this  sentiment.  I  would  maintain  the  negative  of  this  ques- 
tion. If  I  have  read  my  Homer,  J^schylus,  Virgil,  and  Horace  to 
any  purpose  they  do  not  reveal  the  existence  in  Ancient  Greece  and 
Rome  of  the  sentiment  of  romantic  love.  If  it  be  said  that  they 
contain  the  rudiments  of  it  and  foreshadow  it  to  some  extent  I  shall 
not  dispute  this,  but  natural  love  everywhere  does  this,  and  that  is 
therefore  not  the  question.  The  only  place  where  one  finds  clear 
indications  of  the  sentiment  is  in  such  books  as  "Quo  Vadis,"  which 
cannot  free  themselves  from  such  anachronisms.  I  would  therefore 
adhere  to  the  statement  made  in  1896,  when  I  said,  "Brilliant  as 
were  the  intellectual  achievements  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and 
refined  as  were  many  of  their  moral  and  esthetic  perceptions,  noth- 
ing in  their  literature  conclusively  proves  that  love  with  them  meant 
more  than  the  natural  demands  of  the  sexual  instinct  under  the  con- 
trol of  strong  character  and  high  intelligence.  The  romantic  element 
of  man's  nature  had  not  yet  been  developed." 

The  Greeks,  of  course,  distinguished  several  kinds  of  love,  and  by 
different  words  («/3<os,  ayaTrrj,  <£iAta),  but  only  one  of  these  is  sexual 
at  all.  For  «?p<os  they  often  used  'AfooSiTij.  They  also  expressed 
certain  degrees  and  qualities  in  these  by  adjectives,  e.g.,  Trdv8r)fj,o<i. 
Some  modern  writers  place  the  adjective  ovpdvios  over  against  TravS^os, 
as  indicating  that  they  recognized  a  sublimated,  heavenly,  or  spiritual 
form  of  sexual  love,  but  I  have  not  found  this  in  classic  Greek. 
Neither  do  I  find  any  other  to  the  Latin  Venus  vulgivaga.  But 
whether  such  softened  expressions  are  really  to  be  found  in  classic 
Greek  and  Latin  authors  or  not,  the  fact  that  they  are  so  rare  suffi- 
ciently indicates  that  the  conceptions  they  convey  could  not  have 
been  current  in  the  Greek  and  Roman  mind,  and  must  have  been 
confined  to  a  few  rare  natures. 

Romantic  love  is  therefore  not  only  confined  to  the  historic  races, 
those  mentioned  in  Chapter  III  as  representing  the  accumulated  ener- 
gies of  all  the  past  and  the  highest  human  achievement,  but  it  is  lim- 
ited to  the  last  nine  or  ten  centuries  of  the  history  of  those  races.  It 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

began  to  manifest  itself  some  time  in  the  eleventh  century  of  the 
Christian  era,  and  was  closely  connected  with  the  origin  of  chivalry 
under  the  feudal  system.  Guizot  has  given  us  perhaps  the  best  pres- 
entation of  that  institution,1  and  from  this  it  is  easy  to  see  how  the 
conditions  favored  its  development.  In  the  first  place  the  constant 
and  prolonged  absenteeism  of  the  lords  and  knights,  often  with  most 
of  their  retainers,  from  the  castle  left  the  women  practically  in 
charge  of  affairs  and  conferred  upon  them  a  power  and  dignity  never 
before  possessed.  In  the  second  place  the  separation  of  most  of  the 
men  for  such  long  periods,  coupled  with  the  sense  of  honor  that  their 
knighthood  and  military  career  gave  rise  to,  caused  them  to  assume 
the  role  of  applicants  for  the  favor  of  the  women,  which  they  could 
not  always  immediately  attain  as  when  women  were  forcibly  seized 
by  any  one  that  chanced  to  find  them.  These  conditions  produced  a 
mutual  sense  on  the  part  of  both  sexes  of  the  need  of  each  other, 
coupled  with  prolonged  deprivation  on  the  part  of  both  of  that  satisfac- 
tion. The  men,  thus  seeking  the  women,  naturally  became  chivalrous 
toward  them.  The  solitary  life  of  women  of  high  rank  made  them 
somewhat  a  prey  to  the  lusts  of  men  of  low  degree,  and  the  knights 
assumed  the  role  of  protecting  them  from  all  dangers.  Moral  and 
Christian  sentiments  also  played  a  part,  and  we  find  among  the 
provisions  of  the  oath  that  every  chevalier  must  make  the  following 
solemn  vows :  — 

To  maintain  the  just  rights  of  the  weak,  as  of  widows,  orphans, 
and  young  women. 

If  called  upon  to  conduct  a  lady  or  a  girl  to  any  place,  to  wait 
upon  her,  to  protect  her,  and  to  save  her  from  all  danger  and  every 
offense,  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

Never  to  do  violence  to  ladies  or  young  women,  even  though  won 
by  their  arms,  without  their  will  and  consent. 

Such  an  oath,  made  a  universal  point  of  honor,  any  breach  of 
which  would  be  an  everlasting  disgrace,  and  be  punished  severely 
by  the  order  of  knighthood  to  which  they  belonged,  could  not  fail  to 
produce  a  powerful  civilizing  effect  upon  the  semi-barbaric  men  of 
that  age.  The  whole  proceeding  must  have  also  given  to  women  a 
far  greater  independence  and  higher  standing  than  they  had  ever 
before  enjoyed  since  the  days  of  gynaecocracy  in  the  protosocial 

1 "  Histoire  de  la  Civilisation  en  France  depuis  la  chute  de  1'Empire  Remain," 
par  M.  Guizot,  3«  eU,  Vol.  HI,  Paris,  1840,  Sixieme  Le9on,  pp.  351-382. 


CH.  xiv]  EOMANTIC   LOVE  395 

stage.  Out  of  this  condition  of  things  there  arose  a  special  class 
of  poets  who  wrote  lyrics  wholly  different  from  the  erotic  songs  of 
antiquity  that  go  by  that  name.  These  poets  were  called  trouba- 
dours, and  some  of  them  wandered  from  place  to  place  singing  the 
praises  of  the  great  court  ladies,  and  still  further  inflaming  the  new 
passion,  which  was  relatively  pure,  and  contented  itself  with  an 
association  of  men  with  women  while  conserving  the  honor  and 
virtue  of  the  latter.  This,  of  course,  was  a  passing  phase  and  some- 
what local,  being  mainly  confined  to  southern  France  and  parts  of 
Spain.  It  degenerated,  as  did  the  whole  institution  of  chivalry, 
and  by  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century  nothing  was  left  of  either 
but  the  ridiculous  nonsense  that  Cervantes  found  surviving  into  his 
time,  and  which  he  so  happily  portrayed  in  Don  Quixote.  But 
chivalry  had  left  its  impress  upon  the  world,  and  while  Condorcet 
and  Comte  exaggerated  certain  aspects  of  it,  no  one  has  pointed  out 
its  greatest  service  in  grafting  romantic  love  upon  natural  love, 
which  until  then  had  been  supreme. 

But  it  would  be  easy  to  ascribe  too  great  a  role,  even  here,  to 
chivalry.  The  truth  is  not  all  told  until  chivalry  is  understood  as 
an  effect  as  well  as  a  cause.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  Middle 
Ages  as  tending  to  suppress  the  natural  flow  of  intellectual  activi- 
ties, there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  were  highly  favorable  to  the 
development  of  emotional  life.  The  intense  religious  fervor  that 
burned  in  its  cloisters  for  so  many  centuries  served  to  create  centers 
of  feeling,  and  to  increase  the  sensibility  of  all  those  nerve  plexuses 
that  constitute  the  true  organs  of  emotion.  Whatever  may  be  the 
physiological  changes  necessary  to  intensify  the  inner  feelings, 
corresponding  to  the  multiplication  and  diversification  of  the  neurons 
of  the  brain  by  which  the  intellect  is  perfected,  such  changes  went 
on,  until  the  men  and  women  of  the  eleventh  century  found  them- 
selves endowed  with  far  higher  moral  organizations  than  those  of 
the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans.  They  had  been  all  this  time 
using  their  emotional  faculties  as  they  never  had  been  used  before, 
and  the  Lamarckian  principle  of  increase  through  use  is  as  true  of 
those  faculties  as  it  is  of  external  muscles  and  organs.  It  is  true  of 
the  brain,  too,  and  when  educationalists  wake  up  to  this  truth  the 
only  solid  basis  for  scientific  education  will  have  been  discovered. 
But  without  a  preparation  in  this  latent  growth  of  the  emotional 
faculties  neither  chivalry  nor  romantic  love  could  have  made  its 


396  PURE   SOCIOLOGY"  [PART  n 

appearance.  The  crusades,  contemporary  to  a  great  extent  with 
chivalry,  and  due  also  to  the  surplus  emotion,  taking  here  a  religious 
course,  became  also  a  joint  cause  in  the  development  not  only  of 
romantic  love  but  also  of  many  other  lofty  attributes,  both  ethical 
and  intellectual.  They  failed  to  save  the  holy  city,  but  they  gained 
a  far  greater  victory  than  that  would  have  been  in  rationalizing, 
moralizing,  and  socializing  Europe.  Any  one  who  thinks  they  were 
a  failure  has  only  to  read  Guizot's  masterly  summing  up  of  their 
influence.1 

Romantic  love  was  due  primarily  to  the  greater  equality  and  inde- 
pendence of  woman.  She  reacquired  to  some  extent  her  long-lost 
power  of  selection,  and  began  to  apply  to  men  certain  tests  of  fit- 
ness. Romantic  love  therefore  marks  the  first  step  toward  the 
resumption  by  woman  of  her  natural  scepter  which  she  yielded  to 
the  superior  physical  force  of  man  at  the  beginning  of  the  andro- 
cratic period.  It  involves  a  certain  degree  of  female  selection  or 
gyneclexis,  and  no  longer  permitted  man  to  seize  but  compelled  him 
to  sue.  But  it  went  much  farther  than  this.  It  did  not  complete  a 
cycle  and  restore  female  selection  as  it  exists  in  the  animal  world. 
It  also  did  away  with  the  pure  male  selection  that  prevailed  through- 
out the  androcratic  regime.  The  great  physiological  superiority  of 
the  new  regime  cannot  be  too  strongly  emphasized.  Its  value  to  the 
race  is  incalculable.  Female  selection,  or  gyneclexis,  as  we  saw, 
created  a  fantastic  and  extravagant  male  efflorescence.  Male  selec- 
tion, or  andreclexis,  produced  a  female  etiolation,  diminutive  stature, 
beauty  without  utility.  Both  these  unnatural  effects  were  due  to 
lack  of  mutuality.  Romantic  love  is  mutual.  The  selection  is  done 
simultaneously  by  man  and  woman.  It  may  be  called  ampheclexis. 
Its  most  striking  characteristic  consists  in  the  phenomenon  called 
"  falling  in  love."  It  is  not  commonly  supposed  that  this  so-called 
"  tender  passion  "  is  capable  of  cold  scientific  analysis.  It  is  treated 
as  something  trivial,  and  any  allusion  to  it  creates  a  smile.  Yet 
libraries  are  filled  with  books  devoted  exclusively  to  it,  and  these 
are  as  eagerly  devoured  by  philosophers  and  sages  as  by  schoolgirls. 

Such  books,  of  course,  are  not  scientific.  They  are  fictions, 
romances,  lyrics.  Yet  many  of  them  are  classic.  Such  always  con- 
tain much  truth,  and  this  is  almost  the  only  way  in  which  truth  of 

1"Histoire  generate  de  la  Civilisation  en  Europe  depuis  la  chute  de  1'Empire 
Remain,"  par  M.  Guizot,  4«  ed.,  Paris,  1840,  Huitieme  Le9ou,  pp.  231-257. 


CH.  xiv]  ROMANTIC   LOVE  397 

this  class  is  attainable.  Serious  writers  fight  shy  of  the  subject. 
This  emphasizes  the  idea  that  the  subject  is  not  serious.  But  as  it 
is  the  most  serious  of  all  subjects  this  naturally  creates  an  almost 
universal  hypocrisy.  My  favorite  way  of  illustrating  this  hypocrisy 
is  by  contrasting  the  attitude  of  society  toward  a  couple,  say  on  the 
day  before  and  the  day  after  their  marriage.  To  heighten  the  con- 
trast let  us  suppose  first  that  one  of  the  two  dies  on  the  first  of 
these  days.  The  other  is  not  even  a  mourner  at  the  funeral.  Next 
that  one  dies  on  the  latter  of  these  days.  The  other  is  then  the 
chief  mourner !  Yet  what  real  or  natural  difference  is  there  be- 
tween the  relations  of  the  two  on  the  two  days  ?  Evidently  none 
whatever.  The  only  differences  in  their  relations  at  the  two  dates 
are  purely  artificial  and  conventional. 

Over  and  over  again  in  the  course  of  our  studies  into  the  origin 
and  nature  of  life,  mind,  man,  and  society  we  have  e'ncountered  the 
mysterious  but  silent  power  that  unconsciously  compasses  ends  not 
dreamed  of  by  the  agents  involved,  the  unheard  voice  of  nature,  the 
unseen  hand,  the  natura  naturans,  the  future  in  the  act  of  being 
born.  But  nowhere  has  there  been  found  a  more  typical  or  more 
instructive  example  of  this  than  that  which  is  furnished  by  romantic 
love.  The  end  is  nothing  less  than  perfectionment  of  the  human 
race.  Whatever  individuals  may  desire,  the  demand  of  nature  is 
unmistakable.  Primarily  the  object  is  to  put  an  end  to  all  tenden- 
cies toward  extremes  and  one-sided  development.  It  has  been  said 
that  this  mutual  selection  tends  toward  mediocrity.  This  is  not 
strictly  true,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  tends  toward  the 
establishment  of  a  mean.  That  mean  may  be  regarded  as  an  ideal. 
It  is  not  an  ideal  in  the  sense  of  exceptional  beauty,  unusual  size, 
excessive  strength,  or  any  other  extraordinary  quality.  It  is  an 
ideal  in  the  sense  of  a  normal  development  of  all  qualities,  a  sym- 
metrical rounding  out  of  the  whole  physical  organism.  In  this  of 
course  certain  qualities  that  are  considered  most  valuable  fall  con- 
siderably below  the  level  attained  in  certain  individuals,  and  this  is 
why  it  has  been  supposed  to  aim  at  mediocrity.  But  it  is  certainly 
more  important  to  have  a  symmetrical  race  than  to  have  a  one-sided, 
topheavy  race,  even  though  some  of  the  overdeveloped  qualities  are 
qualities  of  a  high  order. 

When  a  man  and  a  woman  fall  in  love  it  means  that  the  man  has 
qualities  that  are  wanting  in  the  woman  which  she  covets  and  wishes 


398  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PAKT  n 

to  transmit  to  her  offspring,  and  also  that  the  woman  has  qualities 
not  possessed  by  the  man,  but  which  he  regards  as  better  than  his 
own  and  desires  to  hand  on  to  posterity.  By  this  is  not  meant  that 
either  the  man  or  the  woman  is  conscious  of  any  of  these  things. 
They  are  both  utterly  unconscious  of  them.  All  they  know  is  that 
they  love  each  other.  Of  the  reasons  why  they  love  each  other  they 
are  profoundly  ignorant.  It  is  almost  proverbial  that  tall  men 
choose  short  wives,  and  the  union  of  tall  women  with  short  men  is 
only  a  little  less  common.  Thin  men  and  plump  girls  fall  in  love, 
as  do  fat  men  and  slender  women.  Blonds  and  brunettes  rush  irre- 
sistibly together.  But  besides  these  more  visible  qualities  there 
are  numberless  invisible  ones  that  the  subtle  agencies  of  love  alone 
know  how  to  detect.  All  such  unconscious  preferences,  often  appear- 
ing absurd  or  ridiculous  to  disinterested  spectators,  work  in  the 
direction  of  righting  up  the  race  and  bringing  about  an  ideal  mean.1 

The  principle  works  in  the  same  way  on  mental  and  moral  quali- 
ties, which  are  at  bottom  only  the  expression  of  internal  instead  of 
external  differences  in  the  anatomy  of  the  body.  For  a  bright  mind 
is  the  result  of  the  number  and  development  of  the  brain  cells,  and 
all  the  manifold  differences  in  character  are  ultimately  based  on  the 
different  ways  in  which  the  brain,  the  nervous  system,  and  the  en- 
tire machinery  of  the  body  is  organized  and  adjusted.  Generally 
speaking  persons  of  opposite  "  temperaments,"  whatever  these  may 
be,  attract  each  other,  and  the  effect  is  a  gradual  crossing  and  mu- 
tual neutralizing  of  temperaments.  The  less  pronounced  these  so- 
called  temperaments  the  better  for  the  race.  They  are  in  the  nature 
of  extremes,  idiosyncracies,  peculiarities,  often  amounting  to  intoler- 
able and  anti- social  caprices,  and  producing  in  their  exaggerated 
forms  paranoiacs,  mattoids,  and  monomaniacs.  Love  alone  can 
"  find  the  way  "  to  eliminate  these  and  all  other  mental,  moral,  and 
physical  defects. 

1  The  reverse  is  of  course  also  true,  and  a  decided  aversion  between  a  man  and  a 
woman  means  that  their  union  would  result  in  some  prominent  defect  or  imperfec- 
tion in  the  offspring.  The  extent  to  which  the  great  number  of  misfits  in  society,  of 
people  who  are  out  of  harmony  with  the  social  environment,  of  which  criminals 
only  represent  the  comparatively  rare  extreme  cases,  are  due  to  conventional  and 
compulsory  marriages,  which  ought  never  to  have  been  contracted,  and  which 
ought  to  be  annulled  as  soon  as  they  are  found  to  be  wrong,  is  little  reflected  upon, 
and  society  and  the  church  continue  to  denounce  divorces,  when  the  very  desire  for 
divorce  proves  that  such  marriages  are  violations  of  nature  and  foes  of  social  order 
and  race  perfection. 


CH.  xiv]  ROMANTIC   LOVE  399 

Romantic  love  is  therefore  a  great  agent  in  perfecting  and  balanc- 
ing up  the  human  race.  It  follows  as  matter  of  simple  logic  that  it 
should  be  given  full  sway  as  completely  as  comports  with  the  safety 
and  stability  of  society.  All  attempts  to  interfere  with  its  natural 
operation  tend  to  check  the  progress  of  perfecting  the  race.  Under 
the  androcratic  regime,  during  which  woman  had  no  voice  in  the 
selecting  process,  and  under  the  patriarchal  system  generally  where 
the  marrying  is  done  by  the  patriarch  and  neither  party  is  consulted, 
nature's  beneficent  aime  were  thwarted,  races  grew  this  way  and 
that,  and  mankind  acquired  all  manner  of  physical  and  mental  pecul- 
iarities. There  were  of  course  counteracting  influences,  and  natural 
love,  especially  in  the  middle  classes,  helped  to  maintain  an  equilib- 
rium, but  male  selection  dwarfed  woman  and  slavery  dwarfed  both 
sexes.  The  races  of  men  with  all  their  marked  differences  have 
doubtless  been  in  large  part  due  to  the  want  of  mutuality  in  selec- 
tion for  purposes  of  propagation. 

This  mutual  selection  under  romantic  love  can  be  trusted  not  to 
work  the  extermination  of  the  race  from  over-fastidiousness.  It 
operates  always  under  the  higher  law  of  reproduction  at  all  events. 
This  is  proved  by  the  universal  influence  of  propinquity.  "  Great 
is  Love,  and  Propinquity  is  her  high  priest."  If  there  be  but  one 
man  and  one  woman  on  any  given  circumscribed  area  they  may  be 
depended  upon  to  love  and  to  procreate.  Very  bashful  persons  who 
shun  the  opposite  sex  usually  in  the  end  marry  the  ones  with  whom 
circumstances  forcibly  bring  them  into  more  or  less  prolonged  con- 
tact. The  constant  enforced  separation  of  the  sexes  in  the  supposed 
interest  of  morality  causes  the  sexual  natures  of  those  thus  cut  off 
from  the  other  sex  to  become  so  hypertrophied  that  there  is  little 
chance  for  selection,  and  unions,  too  often  illicit,  take  place  with 
little  concern  for  preferred  or  complementary  qualities.  Contrary 
to  the  views  of  moral  theorists  who  advocate  such  enforced  separa- 
tion, marriages  are  fewer  and  occur  later  in  life  in  societies  where 
the  sexes  freely  commingle  and  where  there  is  the  least  restraint. 
It  is  also  in  such  societies  that  the  closest  discrimination  takes 
place  and  that  the  finest  types  of  men  are  produced. 

Where  a  reasonable  degree  of  freedom  of  the  sexes  exists  and 
there  is  no  scarcity  of  men  or  of  women,  this  passion  of  love  becomes 
from  a  biological,  from  an  anthropological,  and  from  a  sociological 
point  of  view,  the  highest  of  all  sanctions.  It  is  the  voice  of  nature 


400  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  ir 

commanding  in  unmistakable  tones,  not  only  the  continuance,  but 
also  the  improvement  and  perfectionment  of  the  race.  In  cases 
where  arbitrary  acts  or  social  convention  in  violation  of  this  com- 
mand produce  conjugal  infelicity  and  despair,  one  might  even  indorse 
the  following  statement  of  Chamfort :  — 

When  a  man  and  a  woman  have  a  violent  passion  for  each  other,  it 
always  seems  to  me  that,  whatever  may  be  the  obstacles  that  separate  them, 
husband,  parents,  etc.,  the  two  lovers  belong  to  each  other  by  Nature  and 
by  divine  right  in  spite  of  human  laws  and  conventions. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  there  is  always  a  touch  of  the  illicit  in  all 
the  romances  of  great  geniuses  —  Abelard  and  Heloi'se,  Dante  and 
Beatrice,  Petrarch  and  Laura,  Tasso  and  Eleonora,  Goethe  and  Char- 
lotte von  Stein,  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  and  Charlotte  Diede,  Comte 
and  Clotilde  de  Vaux  —  and  the  romantic  literature  of  the  world 
has  for  one  of  its  chief  objects  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  love  is 
a  higher  law  that  will  and  should  prevail  over  the  laws  of  men  and 
the  conventions  of  society.  In  this  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  tSach- 
ings  of  biology  and  with  those  of  a  sound  sociology. 

With  regard  to  the  essential  difference  between  romantic  love  and 
natural  love,  it  consists  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  the  passion  is  satisfied 
by  the  presence  instead  of  the  possession  of  the  one  toward  whom  it 
goes  out.  It  seems  to  consist  of  a  continuous  series  of  ever  repeated 
nervous  thrills  which  are  connected  if  the  object  is  near,  but  inter- 
rupted and  arrested  if  the  object  is  absent.  These  thrills,  though 
exceedingly  intense,  do  not  have  an  organic  function,  but  exist,  as  it 
were,  for  their  own  sake.  That  they  are  physical  is  obvious,  and 
they  are  intensified  by  various  physical  acts,  such  as  kissing,  embrac- 
ing, caressing,  etc.  In  fact  it  is  known  that  sexuality  is  not  by  any 
means  confined  to  the  organs  of  sex,  but  is  diffused  throughout  the 
body.  Not  only  are  there  nerves  of  sex  in  many  regions,  but  there 
is  actually  erectile  tissue  at  various  points  and  notably  in  the  lips. 
Romantic  love  gives  free  rein  to  all  these  innocent  excitements  and 
finds  its  full  satisfaction  as  romantic  love  in  these.  Anything  beyond 
this  is  a  return  to  natural  love,  but  it  is  known  that  such  a  return 
is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  complete  and  permanent  happiness. 
This  is  the  great  superiority  of  romantic  love,  that  it  endures  while 
at  the  same  time  remaining  intense.  It  is  probably  this  quality 
to  which  Comte  alludes  in  the  passage  first  introduced  into  his 
dedication  of  the  "  Positive  Polity  "  to  Clotilde  de  Vaux,  and  then 


CH.  xiv]  ROMANTIC   LOVE  401 

put  as  an  epigraph  at  the  head  of  the  first  chapter :  "  One  tires  of 
thinking  and  even  of  acting,  but  one  never  tires  of  loving." ' 

But  "true  love  never  runs  smooth,"  and  herein  lies  the  chief 
interest  of  romantic  love  for  sociology  and  its  main  influence  on 
human  progress.  Besides  its  effect  thus  far  pointed  out  in  perfect- 
ing the  physical  organization  of  man,  it  has  an  even  greater  effect 
in  perfecting  his  social  organization.  The  particular  dynamic  prin- 
ciple upon  which  it  seizes  is  that  which  was  described  in  Chapter  XI 
under  the  name  of  conation.  It  was  there  shown  that  the  efficiency 
of  this  principle  is  measured  by  the  distance  in  both  space  and  time 
that  separates  a  desire  from  its  satisfaction.  It  is  the  special  quality 
of  romantic  love  to  increase  this  distance.  Under  sexual  selection 
proper,  or  gyneclexis,  male  desire  was  indeed  long  separated  from 
its  satisfaction,  and  the  interval  was  filled  by  intense  activities 
which  produced  their  normal  effects  according  to  the  Lamarckian  law. 
But  these  effects,  due  to  male  rivalry,  were  purely  biological  and 
only  showed  themselves  in  modifications  in  organic  structure.  They 
produced  secondary  sexual  characters  and  male  efflorescence.  This, 
as  we  have  seen,  must  have  lasted  far  into  the  human  period.  Dur- 
ing the  long  period  of  androcracy  that  followed  this  stage,  there  was 
no  selection,  but  only  seizure,  capture,  rape,  the  subjection,  enslave- 
ment, and  barter  of  woman.  There  was  no  interval  between  the 
experience  and  the  satisfaction  of  desire  on  the  part  of  men,  and 
very  little  effort  was  put  forth  to  obtain  women  for  this  purpose. 
Hence  during  the  whole  of  this  period  neither  the  Lamarckian  prin- 
ciple nor  the  principle  of  conation  could  produce  any  effect.  For  the 
great  majority  of  mankind  this  condition  prevailed  over  the  whole 
world,  with  greater  or  less  completeness,  down  to  the  date  of  the 
appearance  of  romantic  love.  It  still  prevails  within  certain  restric- 
tions and  under  various  forms  and  degrees,  in  all  but  the  historic 
races.  Under  male  sexual  selection,  or  andreclexis,  so  far  as  its 
influence  extended,  there  was  no  interval  between  desire  and  satis- 
faction, no  effort,  no  conation.  Its  effects  were  confined  to  physical 
modifications,  primarily  in  woman,  due  to  inheritance  of  the  qualities 
selected  by  men. 

With  the  advent  of  romantic  love,  or  ampheclexis,  all  this  was 
changed.  So  far  as  physical  modification  is  concerned  the  effect 

1  "  On  se  lasse  de  penser,  et  meme  d'agir;  jamais  on  ne  se  lasse  d'aimer,"  "Poll- 
tique  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  Dedicace,  p.  viii;  Discours  pre"liminaire,  p.  1. 

2D 


402  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

was  doubled  by  its  application  to  both  sexes  alike,  and  instead  of 
producing  anomalies  and  monstrosities  it  worked,  as  already  shown, 
for  equilibration,  symmetry,  and  normal  average  qualities  or  ideals. 
But  here  we  also  enter  the  field  of  social  dynamics,  and  the  principle 
of  conation  finds  full  expression.  Schopenhauer 1  has  acutely  pointed 
out  that  the  true  romance  never  deals  with  happiness  attained,  but 
only  with  the  prolonged  struggle  for  happiness,  with  the  troubles, 
disappointments,  labors,  and  efforts  of  all  kinds  in  search  of  happi- 
ness. It  leads  its  heroes  through  a  thousand  difficulties  and  dangers, 
and  the  moment  the  end  is  reached  the  curtain  falls !  Tarde  well 
says 2  that  love  is  essentially  a  "  rupture  of  equilibrium."  The  entire 
course  of  a  romantic  love  is  a  heroic  struggle  for  the  restoration  of 
disturbed  equilibrium.  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  It  means  intense 
activity  on  the  part  of  great  numbers  of  the  human  race  at  the  age 
of  greatest  efficiency.  All  this  activity  is  expended  upon  the  im- 
mediate environment  and  every  throe  of  the  struggle  transforms  the 
environment  in  some  degree.  The  greater  part  of  this  transforma- 
tion is  useful  and  contributes  to  its  full  extent  to  social  progress. 
In  the  early  days  and  in  the  upper  classes  the  demands  of  woman 
may  have  been  somewhat  trivial.  Man  must  do  something  heroic, 
must  prove  his  worthiness  by  acts  of  prowess,  and  such  acts  may 
even  be  opposed  to  true  progress.  But  they  at  least  develop  man- 
hood, courage,  honor,  and  under  the  code  of  chivalry  they  must  have 
a  moral  element,  must  defend  the  right,  protect  the  weak,  avenge 
dishonor,  and  uphold  virtue.  But  in  the  lower  ranks  even  then,  and 
everywhere  since  the  fall  of  the  feudal  system,  woman  demanded 
support  and  the  comforts  of  life,  luxuries  where  possible,  and  more 
and  more  leisure  and  accomplishment.  To-day  she  demands  a  home, 
social  position,  ease,  and  economic  freedom.  More  and  more,  too, 
she  requires  of  men  that  they  possess  industry,  thrift,  virtue,  hon- 
esty, -and  intelligence.  Man  must  work  for  all  this,  and  this 
struggle  for  excellence,  as  woman  understands  that  quality,  is  an 
extraordinary  stimulus,  and  leads  to  all  forms  of  achievement. 

But  man  also  selects.  Romantic  love  is  mutual.  Woman  has  as 
much  to  lose  as  man  if  it  results  in  failure.  And  man  sets  ideals 
before  woman.  She  must  be  worthy  of  him  and  she  gently  and 
naturally  bows  to  his  will  and  follows  the  course  that  he  gives  her 

1  "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  377-378. 

2  "  La  Logique  sociale,"  par  G.  Tarde,  Paris,  1895,  p.  426. 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGAL  LOVE  403 

to  understand  is  most  grateful  to  him.  Thus  she  develops  herself 
in  the  direction  of  his  ideals  and  both  are  elevated.  She  may  also 
to  some  extent  transform  the  environment,  if  it  be  no  more  than  the 
inner  circle  of  the  family.  The  combined  effect,  even  in  an  indi- 
vidual case,  is  considerable,  and  when  we  remember  that  in  any 
given  community,  town,  city,  state,  or  country,  the  majority  of  men 
and  women  pass  at  least  once,  sometimes  twice  or  several  times, 
through  the  phase  of  life  known  as  being  in  love,  waiting  and  work- 
ing for  the  longed-for  day  when  they  are  to  possess  each  other, 
struggling  to  prepare  themselves  for  each  other  and  for  that  happy 
event,  we  can  readily  believe  that  such  a  stimulus  must  work  great 
social  results.  The  history  of  the  world  is  full  of  great  examples, 
but  the  volume  of  achievement  thus  wrought  is  made  up  of  thou- 
sands, nay,  millions  of  small  increments  in  all  lands  and  all  shades 
and  grades  of  life,  building  ever  higher  and.  broader  the  coral  reef 
of  civilization. 

Conjugal  Love.  —  The  love  of  a  man  for  his  wife  or  of  a  woman 
for  her  husband  is  an  entirely  different  sentiment  from  that  last 
considered.  In  a  certain  way  it  grows  out  of  it,  but  it  retains  none 
of  it,  and  it  has  other  elements  that  are  wanting  in  romantic  love. 
Lovers  imagine  that  after  marriage  they  will  continue  to  experience 
the  thrills  of  love  the  same  as  before,  the  joys  of  perpetual  presence 
and  those  of  possession  added.  In  this  they  are  certainly  mistaken ; 
I  will  not  say  disappointed,  because,  if  all  is  as  it  should  be,  what 
they  get  is  really  a  far  better  article  than  that  which  they  must  give 
in  exchange  for  it.  For  what,  after  all,  is  this  beautiful  thing  called 
love  par  excellence  but  a  wild,  violent,  tumultuous  passion  that  com- 
pletely absorbs  their  being,  excludes  all  other  sentiments  and  inter- 
ests, stirs  up  their  inmost  depths,  and  unfits  them  for  the  normal 
pursuits  of  life  ?  They  are  incapable  while  under  its  spell  of  enjoy- 
ing anything  else  but  each  the  other's  presence.  The  man  is  unfitted 
for  business,  the  woman  for  social  life,  and  both  for  intellectual  pur- 
suits. The  only  spur  that  can  make  either  party  pursue  other 
things  is  the  sense  of  doing  something  that  the  other  desires.  It  is 
then  done  not  from  any  intrinsic  interest  in  the  work  itself,  but 
from  the  pleasure  of  pleasing  the  other.  All  the  achievement 
wrought  through  romantic  love,  and  the  quantity  is  immense,  pro- 
ceeds, at  least  at  first,  from  this  motive,  and  not  from  the  spon- 
taneous love  of  work.  Its  great  sociological  advantage  arises  from 


404  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

the  fact  that  this  spur  impels  to  activities  that  without  it  would 
never  be  put  forth.  Once  thus  started  on  the  road  to  achievement 
an  intrinsic  interest  usually  arises  and  supplements  the  primary 
motive. 

Komantic  love  has  another  drawback,  that  if  anything  interrupts 
it,  which  constantly  happens,  joy  is  turned  to  grief  and  even  to 
despair,  and  so  violent  is  the  passion,  that  these  disturbances  con- 
stantly cause  suicide  or  homicide  or  both.  It  is  a  precarious  condition 
and  is  never  an  entirely  settled  and  final  state.  In  other  words, 
it  is  at  best  a  transient  and  ephemeral  phase,  an  episode  in  life, 
during  which  it  is  not  felt  that  this  is  the  end.  It  is  a  state  of 
hope,  hope  for  another,  an  ulterior,  a  final  and  settled  state  to 
be  attained  through  marriage.  Marriage  takes  place.  What  fol- 
lows ?  The  tumultuous  billows  of  romantic  love  are  quickly 
calmed;  the  confused  and  undistinguishable  but  all-absorbing 
hopes  and  fears  vanish  never  to  return ;  the  longings,  yearnings, 
cravings  of  temporary  separation  disappear;  but  neither  is  that 
leaping,  throbbing,  exultant  joy  at  meeting  any  longer  felt  as 
such.  The  prolonged  warring  of  passion  is  over  and  peace  super- 
venes. The  pair  are  lovers  no  longer.  James  Whitcomb  Kiley's 
"  Lost  Lover "  is  a  "  touch  of  nature,"  and  lovers  who  marry 
must  say  "good-by"  as  lovers.  "Of  the  old  embrace  and  the 
kiss  I  loved  there  lives  no  trace." 

The  philosophy  of  all  this  consists  in  the  fact  that  love  is 
desire  and  the  satisfaction  of  desire  terminates  it.  All  desire  is 
pain,  and  that  love  is  pain  is  easily  proved  by  simply  imagining 
it  wholly  unrequited  and  unsatisfied.  The  joy,  the  pleasure,  is 
not  in  the  love,  but  in  the  act  of  satisfying  it,  and  when  that 
act  ceases  and  satisfaction  is  fully  attained,  both  the  love  and 
the  joy,  both  the  pain  and  the  pleasure,  end.  Of  these  there  re- 
mains nothing,  and  unless  something  else,  something  different 
from  either  of  these,  arises  to  take  their  place,  the  soul  finds  itself 
in  some  such  a  dead  calm  as  vessels  experience  when  they  get  into 
the  very  center  of  a  great  storm  at  sea,  where  sails  and  rudders  are 
useless  and  they  can  only  lie  helpless  on  the  bosom  of  the  swell  and 
drift  at  its  mercy.  There  are  unphilosophical  natures  for  which 
this  state  becomes  intolerable.  For  such  there  is  nothing  but  the 
pall  of  ennui,  and,  it  may  be  said  in  passing  that  this  constitutes 
one  of  the  most  common  causes  of  conjugal  infelicity.  Such  natures 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGAL  LOVE  405 

have  accustomed  themselves  to  feed  on  passion,  and  when  they  find 
passion  irretrievably  gone  they  experience  sore  disappointment  and 
rebel  against  fate. 

But  there  is  a  still  more  unfortunate  aspect  of  the  subject.  This 
is  a  natural  consequence  of  the  history  of  man  as  we  have  been 
tracing  it.  The  romantic  and  the  conjugal  sentiments  are  both 
derivative  and  modern.  They  are  the  result  of  different  causes 
and  are  wholly  different.  They  are  so  different  that  both  are 
capable  of  existing  in  the  same  individual  at  the  same  time. 
But  they  cannot  both  go  out  toward  the  same  individual  except  dur- 
ing the  early  stages  of  the  latter,  where  they  may  be  likened  to 
dissolving  views.  At  least,  if  they  do  both  go  out  toward  the 
same  individual,  this  is  a  most  happy  effect  and  is  highly  bene- 
ficial to  society.  I  wish  to  speak  here  only  of  those  cases,  and 
they  are  of  constant  occurrence,  in  which  these  two  sentiments 
coexist  in  the  same  individual  but  go  out  toward  different  in- 
dividuals. Moralists  are  prone  to  deny  the  possibility  of  such  a 
thing,  but  here,  as  in  many  other  cases,  fiction  is  more  true  to 
nature  than  social  theory,  since  it  is  based  on  social  facts. 
But  fiction  only  gives  us  more  or  less  idealized  illustrations. 
For  the  naked  facts  we  must  look  to  social  life  itself.  Here  such 
facts  exist  in  vast  numbers  and  constitute  the  most  difficult 
problem  with  which  society  has  to  contend. 

This  obstinate  social  fact  has  for  its  scientific  basis  a  conflict 
between  the  biological  imperative  and  the  social  imperative.1 
The  former  has  been  asserting  itself  during  countless  ages.  The 
latter  has  only  just  come  forward  in  the  civilized  state  of  man. 
Komantic  love,  as  we  have  seen,  as  soon  as  allowed  to  develop 
through  the  emancipation  of  woman,  became  a  powerful  aid  to 
the  biological  imperative  in  righting  up  the  race  that  was  grow- 
ing awry  under  the  influence  of  that  extra-normal  system  which 
I  have  called  androcracy.  The  essence  of  the  biological  impera- 

1  The  expression  "  social  imperative  "  was  first  introduced  by  Dr.  Ludwig  Stein  of 
the  University  of  Bern  under  circumstances  which  I  have  described  in  another  place 
(American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  VII,  May,  1901,  p.  757).  It  is  applicable  to  all 
stages  of  social  development.  Dr.  Stein,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  has  employed  it  only 
in  dealing  with  the  later  stages.  But  I  am  satisfied  that  it  has  its  root  in  that  same 
primordial,  homogeneous,  undifferentiated  psychic  plasm  which  I  have  called  the 
"group  sentiment  of  safety"  (see  supra,  p.  134),  out  of  which  the  most  important 
human  institutions  have  developed.  Indeed,  I  regard  this  as  the  original  form  of  the 
social  imperative  itself,  and  I  have  so  characterized  it  (supra,  p.  187). 


406  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

tive  is  change,  variety,  the  constant  crossing  of  strains.  It  is  a 
dynamic  principle  and  works  for  race  vigor  and  race  symmetry. 
Romantic  love  favors  it  and  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired  from 
this  point  of  view.  But  that  mutual  choosing  (ampheclexis)  of 
which  romantic  love  consists  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  claim  that 
unions  which  it  renders  advantageous  will  remain  permanently 
advantageous.  Ages  of  promiscuity  that  preceded  the  origin  of 
romantic  love  left  their  indelible  impress  on  the  race,  and  but 
for  the  counter-principle  of  conjugal  love,  monogamy  would  have 
been  practicably  impossible.  Those  who  expect  that  such  a  deep- 
seated  race  characteristic  will  wholly  disappear  in  a  few  centuries 
of  superficial  culture  find  the  facts  wholly  opposed  to  their  ideals. 
Most  of  the  moralists  are  utterly  ignorant  of  this  real  human 
history,  and  know  no  better  than  to  condemn  and  denounce  all 
manifestations  of  the  biological  imperative  which  do  not  harmonize 
with  the  categorical  imperative  as  taught  in  their  ethical  philosophy. 
But  the  former  principle  is  infinitely  older  and  far  more  basic,  not 
to  say  more  reliable  as  a  guide  to  human  conduct. 

It  is  these  facts  that  occasion  most  of  the  sexual  irregularity  in 
society,  and  social  evils  of  this  class  are  chiefly  due  to  the  failure  of 
men  to  recognize  such  fundamental  truths,  due  in  turn  in  the  main 
to  their  ignorance  of  the  course  of  human  and  social  evolution,  and 
of  the  real  history  of  man  and  society. 

Monogamic  life,  to  be  successful,  requires  a  certain  amount  of 
philosophy.  At  least  it  requires  character.  It  calls  for  qualities  of 
heart  and  head  that  lie  deep  and  that  come  out  in  their  natural 
purity  and  vigor  as  soon  as  the  storm  of  passion  that  has  kept  them 
in  abeyance  passes  away  and  permits  them  to  reassert  themselves. 
Then,  freed  from  the  thrall  of  passion,  the  cleared-up  mind  can  be- 
gin to  relish  other  pursuits  and  gain  satisfactions  of  other  and  more 
solid  and  useful  kinds.  But  in  all  properly  constituted  minds  there 
remains  at  least  a  memory  of  the  tender  emotion  which  predis- 
poses to  the  appreciation  of  mutual  companionship  not  hitherto 
enjoyed,  and  this  sentiment,  planted  in  natural  soil,  grows  rapidly, 
and  soon  begins  to  overshadow  all  others.  Herein  is  found  the 
most  typical  exemplification  of  both  the  kindred  principles  already 
alluded  to  (supra,  p.  209),  and  called  respectively  propinquity  and  the 
sanctity  of  the  second  person.  It  was  shown  that  one  of  the  happiest 
traits  of  human  nature  consists  in  the  fact  that,  where  there  are  no 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGAL   LOVE  407 

repugnant  elements,  the  mere  personal  proximity  of  individuals 
leads  to  attachments  that  cannot  be  otherwise  explained  and  have 
no  other  basis;  to  a  degree  of  appreciation  and  mutual  valuation 
that  is  wholly  disproportionate  to  real  worth.  But,  as  in  so  many 
other  of  man's  vaunted  qualities,  this  one  goes  back  far  into  the 

animal  world :  — 

A  mastiff  dog 

May  love  a  puppy  cur  for  no  more  reason 
Than  that  the  twain  have  been  tied  up  together.1 

Nay,  such  natural  enemies  as  cats  and  dogs  become  fast  friends  and 
affectionate  companions  when  raised  together. 

Descriptions  of  conjugal  love  are  hard  to  find,  because,  as  Scho- 
penhauer says,  in  all  fiction  and  poetry,  where  romance  ends  there 
ends  the  tale,  and  the  marriage,  which  is  the  goal  of  it  all,  if  men- 
tioned at  all,  is  curtly  disposed  of  in  the  last  line  or  two  that  precede 
the  "  FINIS."  It  is  therefore  not  in  fiction  that  we  are  to  look  for  a 
portrayal  of  conjugal  love,  but  rather  in  works  of  philosophy,  where 
attempts  are  made  to  find  all  the  social  factors.  Schopenhauer  him- 
self disposes  of  it  in  the  following  words  :  — 

However,  for  the  consolation  of  tender  and  loving  natures,  let  it  be  added 
that  sometimes  to  the  passion  of  romantic  love  {Geschlechtsliebe ;  he  never 
recognizes  the  distinction]  there  is  associated  another  of  wholly  different 
origin,  viz.,  true  friendship  founded  on  harmony  of  temperament,  which, 
however,  for  the  most  part  only  makes  its  appearance  when  love  proper  has 
been  quenched  by  satisfaction.2 

Condorcet,  who  believed  in  the  utmost  freedom  of  divorce  with  a 
view  to  the  ultimate  attainment  of  the  most  complete  harmony  and 
mutuality,  has  pictured  this  final  state  of  emotional  equilibrium  in 
the  concluding  part  of  the  passage  above  quoted  (pp.  386-387),  and 
in  the  eloquent  page  that  follows,  but  he  does  not  characterize  it  as 
conjugal  love.  Comte,  who  taught  that  marriage  should  be  indissol- 
uble, essayed  on  several  occasions  to  portray  its  perfect  state :  — 

This  second  epoch  of  moral  education  begins  with  conjugal  affection,  the 
most  fundamental  of  all,  in  which  the  mutuality  and  the  indissolubility  of 
the  bond  insure  complete  devotion.  Supreme  type  of  all  sympathetic  in- 
stincts, its  name  is  the  only  one  that  requires  no  qualification.8 

1  Tennyson,  "  Queen  Mary,"  Act  I,  Scene  4. 

2  Die  Welt,"  etc.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  638-639. 
8  "Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  p.  95. 


408  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

Again  he  says :  — 

The  first  and  principal  of  these  bonds  consists  in  conjugal  union,  the  most 
powerful  of  all  domestic  affections.  Its  preeminence  is  too  well  recognized, 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  existing  anarchy,  to  call  for  any  other  special  effort 
than  a  better  analysis  founded  on  a  true  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and 
calculated  to  dispel  irrevocably  all  disturbing  sophistry.  The  excellence  of 
this  bond  consists  first  of  all  in  the  fact  that  it  develops  at  once  the  three 
social  instincts,  cultivated  too  much  apart  in  the  three  other  domestic  rela- 
tions, no  one  of  which,  however,  affords  as  great  a  stimulus  as  true  marriage 
can  do.  More  tender  than  brotherly  love,  conjugal  union  inspires  a  purer 
and  more  lively  veneration  than  filial  respect,  as  a  more  active  and  devoted 
sentiment  than  paternal  protection.1 

He  sets  forth  very  clearly  the  relations  of  natural  love  to  conjugal 
love  in  the  following  passage :  — 

I  confine  myself  here  to  recalling  the  fact  that  the  sexual  impulse,  how- 
ever indispensable  it  may  usually  be,  especially  to  males,  can  do  no  more 
than  heighten  the  conjugal  affection,  which  it  would  be  incapable  of  doing 
in  default  of  a  direct  inclination.  The  carnal  instinct  only  arouses  relations 
which  often  lead  man  to  truly  appreciate  woman.  But  when  the  attach- 
ment has  thus  been  formed  it  persists  and  grows  by  its  own  charm,  inde- 
pendently of  any  animal  satisfaction,  according  to  the  common  law  of  such 
cerebral  reactions.  It  even  becomes  at  once  more  intense  and  more  perma- 
nent when  it  results  from  relations  that  are  always  pure,  although  the  sex- 
ual impulse  still  remains  perceptible.3 

Dr.  Shailer  Mathews,  writing  under  a  strong  religious  bias,  re- 
marks :  — 

Between  man  and  wife  here  is  to  be  a  union  in  spirit  that  springs  from  a 
love  that  is  not  mere  passion,  but  is  volitional  and  moral.  When  physical 
surroundings  have  passed  away,  then  will  the  spiritual  union,  which  must 
have  accompanied  the  physical,  survive,  and  the  completed  family  become 
even  more  apparently  like  the  completed  society,  a  psychical  union.8 

There  can  of  course  be  no  doubt  that  conjugal  love  is  a  step 
more  "  psychical "  and  "  spiritual "  than  romantic  love,  just  as  the 
latter  is  a  step  more  so  than  natural  love,  and  in  precisely  the 
same  sense  and  no  other,  as  set  forth  at  the  beginning  of  the  last 
section,  and  without  implying,  any  more  than  in  that  case,  a  generic 
or  qualitative  distinction.  It  is  in  this  sense,  too,  that  I  have  char- 
acterized it  as  "  a  better  article  "  —  more  durable,  possessing  greater 
volume,  greater  utility,  more  real  worth,  and  hence  more  worthy. 

i "  Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  186-187.  2  Op.  cit.,  p.  188. 

8  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Chicago,  Vol.  I,  January,  1896,  p.  459. 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGAL  LOVE  409 

Thus  far  we  have  assumed  only  the  result  of  a  typical  monogainic 
union  following  naturally  upon  romantic  love.  It  may  be  said  that 
such  cases,  though  ideal,  are  really  rare  in  fact.  The  widespread 
existence  of  conjugal  infelicity  seems  to  favor  this  view,  and  many 
deduce  from  it  the  conclusion  that  "  marriage  is  a  failure."  But  I 
think  the  statistics  of  marriage  from  this  point  of  view,  could  they 
be  obtained,  which  they  obviously  never  can  be  because  few  are 
willing  to  declare  their  unhappiness  in  a  public  way,  would  show  a 
slight  preponderance  of  happy  over  unhappy  marriages  in  enlight- 
ened monogamic  countries.  The  problem  of  pure  sociology  is  to 
•explain  the  causes  of  unhappy  marriages,  while  that  of  applied  soci- 
ology is  to  show  how  they  can  be  removed.  With  the  latter  we 
have  here  nothing  to  do.  As  to  the  former  I  venture  to  offer  the 
following  suggestions :  — 

It  must  be  obvious  that  conjugal  love  as  here  portrayed  cannot 
exist  under  polygamy.  It  is  therefore  even  more  unknown  to  all 
the  ages  during  which  polygamy  prevailed  than  is  romantic  love.  It 
cannot  then  be  older  than  romantic  love  and  must  be  confined  to 
the  same  races  and  peoples.  The  forms  of  monogamy  that  preceded 
that  epoch  were  chiefly  economic  in  their  purpose.  They  were  based 
on  the  conception  of  natural  love  and  its  satisfaction  as  an  economic 
commodity,  and  grew  out  of  the  increasing  equality  in  power  of 
individuals.  Polygamy  is  essentially  a  monopoly  of  that  commodity,  > 
and  as  fast  as  the  spirit  of  liberty  gave  power  to  more  and  more 
men  in  society  they  revolted  against  that  monopoly  and  secured  as 
far  as  possible  an  equal  distribution  of  property  in  women.  Owing 
to  the  substantial  numerical  equality  of  the  sexes  this  could  only  be 
attained  by  limiting  every  man  to  one  wife.  Every  man  who  laid 
claim  to  more  than  one  woman  deprived  another  man  of  his  claim 
to  a  woman.  Although  it  is  difficult  to  find  any  direct  announce- 
ment of  this  principle  as  the  basis  of  monogamy,  still  it  is  one  of 
those  spontaneous,  self-executing  laws  that  operate  silently  and 
perpetually  until  they  work  out  the  inevitable  solution,  and  the 
transformed  society  accepts  the  result  without  knowing  why  and 
crystallizes  it  into  an  institution  (monogamy),  which  is  first  gener- 
ally accepted,  then  surrounded  with  a  legal  and  religious  sanction, 
and  finally  defended  as  something  existing  in  the  nature  of  things 
or  as  "  ordained  of  God,"  or  both. 

As  the  property  idea  gradually  disappeared  and  woman  came  to 


410  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  u 

be  looked  upon,  not  as  a  possession,  a  chattel,  a  slave,  but  as  a  hu- 
man being,  a  new  adjustment  -became  necessary.  So  long  as  a  wife 
was  only  the  property  of  her  husband  there  could  be  no  conjugal 
infelicity.  Between  them  there  existed  such  a  social  chasm  that  no 
more  friction  could  arise  than  between  a  man  and  his  horse.  If  she 
displeased  him  or  became  recalcitrant  she  was  beaten  into  submis- 
sion and  shown  her  place  as  a  simple  contributor  to  his  wants  and 
pleasures.  But  when  woman  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  human 
being,  if  not  the  equal  of  man,  at  least  a  coagent  with  man  in  carry- 
ing on  the  operations  of  society,  all  this  was  changed,  and  there 
arose  the  possibility  of  a  conflict  of  wills.  Both  conjugal  love  and 
conjugal  infelicity  are  products  of  mutuality.  The  recognition  of  a 
certain  degree  of  equality  is  an  essential  condition  to  both.  The 
respect  and  friendly  feeling,  growing  in  part  out  of  the  memories  of 
requited  romantic  love  and  satisfied  natural  love,  as  Condorcet  has 
portrayed  these  sentiments,  and  in  part  out  of  propinquity  and  the 
enjoyment  of  things  to  which  men  become  accustomed,  work  upon 
certain  natures  in  the  direction  of  forming  and  more  and  more 
closely  knitting  the  fibers  of  conjugal  love,  and  making  the  parties 
more  and  more  indispensable  and  "  dear  "  to  each  other,  until  this 
bond  becomes  exceedingly  close,  even  indissoluble.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  conflict  of  wills  may  tend  more  and  more  to  separate  and 
estrange,  and  ultimately  result  either  in  complete  repugnance  and 
separation,  or  in  one  or  other  of  the  innumerable  family  jars  that 
make  up  domestic  infelicity. 

The  careful  and  impartial  student  will,  I  think,  admit  that  taking 
into  account  the  past  history  and  present  condition  of  those  peoples 
among  whom  romantic  and  conjugal  love  exist  at  all,  both  senti- 
ments, but  especially  the  latter,  are  on  the  increase,  and  that  the 
human  race  is  growing  more  and  more  monogamic.  Monogamy 
involves  an  enormous  moral  strain.  It  is  a  severe  discipline  in 
requiring  the  constant  habit  of  mutually  yielding  the  one  to  the 
other  in  the  exercise  of  the  will.  The  race  is  developing  in  this 
direction  and  it  becomes  from  age  to  age  more  easy  to  surrender  the 
will  to  another  with  whom  everything  in  life  is  so  closely  bound  up. 
There  are  all  degrees  of  difference  in  the  distance  to  which  different 
individuals  have  advanced  in  this  direction,  and  the  present  status 
of  marriage  simply  reflects  these  differences.  To  some  monogamy 
is  still  intolerable,  to  others  it  is  barely  endurable,  to  still  others  it 


CH.  xiv]  CONJUGAL   LOVE 

is  generally  satisfactory  as  the  best  condition  attainable,  while  to  a 
considerable  number  it  is  an  ideal  condition  whose  improvement 
even  cannot  be  conceived  of.  Finally,  as  the  extreme  of  develop- 
ment in  this  line,  we  have  the  uxorious,  for  whom  their  partners 
represent  perfection,  even  more  complete  after  marriage  than  before. 
Such  persons  are  absolutely  blind  to  all  defects,  and  see  each  other 
in  an  entirely  different  light  from  that  in  which  others  see  them. 
It  is  rather  common  for  a  man  to  greatly  overestimate  even  the 
intellectual  powers  of  his  wife.  Everybody  knows  such  cases,  and 
we  have  at  least  one  example  among  truly  eminent  men;  I  refer  to 
the  case  of  John  Stuart  Mill.  Uxoriousness,  however,  is  often  one- 
sided and  confined  to  one  of  the  parties.  In  such  cases  it  is  usually 
accompanied  by  more  or  less  jealousy,  and  often  causes  unhappiness 
by  restricting  the  natural  liberty  of  the  overrated  consort.  But 
uxoriousness  is  itself  a  proof  of  the  possibility  of  ultimately  attain- 
ing a  state  of  complete  monogamy. 

All  these  degrees  in  the  progress  of  man  toward  a  monogamic 
state  constitute  so  many  examples  of  the  artificial  and  derivative 
character  of  civilization,  and  show  that  man  is  constantly  but  slowly 
advancing  toward  complete  sociability.  Not  naturally  social,  he  is 
becoming  social.  If  we  could  imagine  uxoriousness  to  become  first 
mutual  and  then  universal,  the  problem  of  marriage  would  at  least 
be  solved.  But  mutual  exaggeration  is  not  desirable,  and  the  per- 
fect state  would  only  be  attained  by  universal  mutual  attachment 
coupled  with  just  appreciation. 

Conjugal  love  constitutes  a  third  step  in  the  ethical  and  esthetic 
development  of  the  race.  We  may  compare  the  effects  of  natural 
love,  romantic  love,  and  conjugal  love  with  the  somewhat  similar 
series  of  steps,  described  in  Chapter  XIII,  that  were  taken  by  man 
in  the  progress  of  the  development  of  the  ontogenetic  forces.  At 
each  step  the  sum  total  of  enjoyment  is  increased  and  civilization 
advanced.  In  the  ideal  state  of  conjugal  love  we  seem  to  reach  a 
condition  of  felicity,  which,  so  far  as  it  alone  can  contribute,  admits 
of  no  improvement.  It  is  full  and  strong ;  it  is  enduring,  only  end- 
ing with  life  ;  and  it  is  calm  and  subdued,  so  as  in  no  way  to  inter- 
fere with  the  other  normal  operations  of  life. 

It  remains  only  to  point  out  that  conjugal  love  is  a  social  force 
even  more  efficient  than  either  of  the  forms  of  love  thus  far  con- 
sidered. The  principal  stimulus  is  that  of  providing  for  the  family 


412  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

that  naturally  grows  out  of  this  relation.  For  the  man  this  is  un- 
questionably the  most  productive  of  all  stimuli.  It  is  sufficiently 
intense  to  cause  sustained  effort,  and  instead  of  being  only  an  epi- 
sode of  a  few  months'  or  at  most  years'  duration,  it  is  permanent, 
and  continues  from  the  date  of  the  marriage  until  death  to  impel  to 
deeds,  if  not  of  glory  and  renown,  at  least  of  usefulness  and  social 
value.  Instead  of  having  only  the  incentive  of  the  desire  to  please 
another,  it  has  added  to  this  the  incentive  of  work  for  its  own  sake. 
Freed  from  the  distractions  arising  out  of  doubt,  uncertainty,  and 
the  fear  of  not  attaining  the  great  end,  he  for  whom  that  end  is 
already  attained  can  work  for  other  ends  and  aim  at  even  worthier 
ideals.  In  a  word,  the  mental  conditions  attending  conjugal  love 
are  the  best  possible  for  human  achievement,  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
this  is  the  supreme  test  of  social  efficiency.  Of  all  the  phylo- 
genetic  forces,  then,  conjugal  love  seems  to  be  the  one  that  has 
contributed  the  greatest  volume  of  human  achievement,  and  it  is 
therefore  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  it  is  in  the  European  race  and 
during  the  past  three  or  four  centuries  that  the  greatest  achieve- 
ments have  been  wrought  by  man. 

Maternal  Love.  —  It  is  not  parental  love  with  which  we  now  have 
to  deal,  but  with  maternal  love  which  is  one  of  those  attributes,  like 
natural  love,  that  is  commonly,  but  erroneously,  called  an  "instinct." 
The  intention  in  using  this  term  is  to  imply  that  it  is  something 
organic  and  inherent  in  the  physical  constitution,  and  in  so  far 
this  view  is  correct.  Maternal  love  is  something  that  differs  toto 
codo  from  paternal  love  and  parental  affection  as  distinguished  from 
the  maternal  emotion.  Yet  these  are  constantly  confounded  by  all 
popular  writers,  and  even  philosophers,  still  dominated  by  the  andro- 
centric world  view,  usually  keep  up,  and  never  clear  up,  the  confusion. 
Thus  we  find  even  so  close  a  reasoner  as  Herbert  Spencer  saying :  — 

After  this  quantitative  mental  distinction  there  come  the  qualitative 
mental  distinctions  consequent  on  the  relations  of  men  and  women  to  their 
children  and  to  one  another.  Though  the  parental  instinct,  which,  consid- 
ered in  its  essential  nature,  is  a  love  of  the  helpless,  is  common  to  the  two, 
yet  it  is  obviously  not  identical  in  the  two.  That  the  particular  form  of  it 
which  responds  to  infantile  helplessness  is  more  dominant  in  women  than 
in  men,  cannot  be  questioned.  In  man  the  instinct  is  not  so  habitually  ex- 
cited by  the  very  helpless,  but  has  a  more  generalized  relation  to  all  the  rela- 
tively weak  who  are  dependent  upon  him.1 

i  "  Study  of  Sociology,"  pp.  374r-375. 


CH.  xiv]  MATERNAL  LOVE  413 

Now  this  is,  to  my  mind,  a  complete  confusion  of  two,  or  even 
three,  entirely  distinct  things,  viz.,  maternal  love,  parental  (con- 
sanguineal)  love,  and  sympathy.  Neither  maternal  love  nor  consan- 
guineal  love  is  based  on  sympathy,  or  if  sympathy  enters  into  them 
it  is  as  a  distinct  and  added  element  and  has  nothing  to  do  with 
them  primarily.  Sympathy  is  the  basis  of  man's  moral  nature,  a 
product  of  a  high  rational  power,  capable  of  not  only  representing  to 
self  the  painful  states  of  others,  but  of  experiencing  the  reflex  of 
such  representation  in  self  as  a  form  of  pain.  Maternal  and  consan- 
guineal  love  are  faculties  planted  in  the  nature  of  man  through  the 
laws  of  survival  and  advantage  as  conditions  to  the  preservation  and 
continuance  of  the  race.  I  wholly  reject  his  theory  that  they  con- 
sist essentially  or  primarily  in  the  love  of  the  helpless.  This  latter 
can  only  be  experienced  by  a  highly  rational  being,  while  maternal 
love,  at  least,  is  shared  alike  by  man  and  most  of  the  animals  with 
which  most  men  are  chiefly  familiar. 

This  last-mentioned  fact  does  not  detract  from  the  beauty,  purity, 
or  worth  of  maternal  love  as  a  human  attribute.  It  is  one  of  the 
characteristic  attributes  of  the  great  class  of  animals  called  mam- 
mals to  which  man  belongs  and  is  directly  connected  with  the  lead- 
ing function  that  distinguishes  that  class  from  all  others,  viz.,  the 
suckling  of  the  young.  The  entire  mammary  system  in  this  great 
class  of  animals  is  a  part  of  the  sexual  system,  and  maternal  love 
is  primarily  a  sexual  attribute.  Thus  Dr.  Ely  Van  de  Warker 
remarks :  — 

Through  all  the  females  of  the  Mammalia  there  exists  a  feeling  toward 
their  young  called  the  maternal  instinct.  There  is  no  necessity  here  of  going 
into  the  question  of  instinct  among  animals,  as  to  whether  it  partakes  of  the 
nature  of  an  intellectual  process.  Whatever  be  its  nature,  it  is  evidently  a 
part  of  generation,  and  as  such  is  eminently  sexual  in  its  origin.1 

Here  instinct  proper  is  confounded  with  one  of  those  organic  feel- 
ings developed  in  animals  for  the  protection  of  offspring.  This  is  a 
much  less  serious  slip  than  to  confound  the  latter  with  sympathy, 
which  is  often  not  advantageous  at  all,  was  not  developed  for  any 
such  purpose  nor  in  any  such  way,  and  is  not  found  in  animals 
except  in  certain  more  or  less  doubtful  rudimentary  forms. 

As  the  mammary  glands  are  provided  with  nerves  of  sexual  feel- 
ing, these  are  excited  by  the  suckling  of  the  young,  and  the  mother 

i  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  VII,  July,  1875,  p.  292. 


414  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

experiences  a  strong  sexual  pleasure  in  this  act,  which  in  animals 
must  be  a  valuable  motive  for  permitting  it  to  be  done,  and  thus  cal- 
culated to  preserve  the  lives  of  the  young.  Maternal  love  is  inti- 
mately associated  with  this  sexual  feeling  and  grew  directly  out  of 
it.  It  is  in  the  mammal  therefore  that  the  sentiment  of  maternal 
love  arose  and  this  sentiment  is  not  only  common  to  all  mammals, 
but  is  confined  to  that  class  of  animals.  What  vague  substitutes  for 
it  may  exist  among  lower  vertebrates  is  little  known,  but  there  may 
be  such.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  care  for  the  young  in 
these  classes,  including  birds,  is  secured  by  true  instincts,  such  as 
those  by  which  eggs  are  hatched.  The  principle  in  the  two  cases  is 
generically  distinct. 

The  scientific  importance  as  well  as  the  poetic  beauty  of  maternal 
love  is  thus  portrayed  by  Haeckel :  — 

Only  in  this  class  [the  Mammalia]  is  universally  found  that  remarkable 
mode  of  caring  for  the  young  through  the  nourishing  of  the  new-born  child 
with  the  milk  of  the  mother.  Herein  lies  the  physiological  source  of  that 
highest  form  of  maternal  love,  which  has  exerted  such  a  momentous  influ- 
ence upon  the  family  life  of  the  various  mammals,  as  well  as  upon  the 
higher  spiritual  life  of  man.  Of  it  truly  sings  the  poet  Chamisso :  — 

"  Nur  eine  Mutter,  die  da  liebt 
Das  Kind,  dem  sie  die  Nahrung  giebt, 
Nur  eine  Mutter  weiss  allein, 
Was  lieben  heisst  und  gliicklich  sein." 

If  the  Madonna  is  to  us  the  loftiest  and  purest  type  of  this  human 
mother-love,  we  see  on  the  other  hand  in  ape-love  (Ajffenliebe),  in  the  extraor- 
dinary tenderness  of  the  ape-mother,  the  counterpart  of  one  and  the  same 
maternal  instinct.1 

Maternal  love  is  an  essentially  conservative  principle,  but  such 
principles  are  as  useful  to  society  as  are  the  active  and  constructive 
ones.  Hitherto  its  effects  have  been  chiefly  biological  in  protecting 
and  preserving  the  race.  As  a  social  force  it  has  only  operated  in  a 
more  or  less  negative  way.  Sometimes,  however,  it  shows  its  im- 
mense ppwer,  and  as  a  human  passion  it  has  been  made  the  theme 
of  many  tragedies.  No  author  has  portrayed  this  power  more  accu- 
rately or  more  forcibly  than  Victor  Hugo,  and  nowhere  has  he  done 
this  better  than  in  his  "  Quatre-vingt  Treize  "  and  the  rescue  of  the 

1 "  Ueber  unsere  gegenwartige  Kenntniss  vom  Ursprung  des  Menschen,"  Vortrag 
gehalten  auf  dem  Vierten  Internationalen  Zoologen-Congress  in  Cambridge,  am  26. 
August,  1898,  von  Ernst  Haeckel.  Mit  erlauternden  Anmerkungen  und  Tabellen. 
Bonn,  1898,  p.  23. 


CH.  xiv]  CONSANGUINEAL   LOVE  415 

children  from  the  Tourgue:  "Maternity  raises  no  issue:  one  can- 
not discuss  with  it.  What  makes  a  mother  sublime  is  that  she  is 
a  sort  of  beast.  The  maternal  instinct  is  divinely  animal.  The 
mother  is  no  longer  a  woman,  she  is  simply  female." 

And  it  is  true.  The  highest  flights  of  this  passion  are  those  that 
most  assimulate  that  animal  stage  when  the  female  was  the  supreme 
guardian  of  her  own,  the  stage  of  pure  gynaecocracy.  Then  the 
female  was  not  only  the  race,  but  did  all  the  work  of  the  race  and 
chose  the  male  besides.  It  was  through  this  long  discipline  that  not 
only  maternal  love  but  maternal  courage  and  maternal  efficiency 
were  developed,  and  notwithstanding  the  trials  to  which  woman  was 
so  long  subjected,  she  is  still  capable  of  rising  to  the  occasion,  and 
without  hesitation  or  deliberation,  of  defending  her  children  in  the 
face  of  the  greatest  dangers.  Under  this  powerful  spur  her  acts 
often  seem  almost  miraculous. 

With  the  advent  of  a  stage  of  complete  equality  of  the  sexes  this 
power  is  destined,  it  would  seem,  to  play  a  much  more  important 
role  than  it  has  ever  done  in  the  past  or  than  it  plays  in  the  present 
state  of  even  the  most  advanced  societies,  and  if  women  ultimately 
become  the  equals  of  men  in  the  art  of  portraying  events  it  is  from 
them  that  we  must  expect  this  passion  to  be  embellished  and  brought 
out  in  the  literature  of  the  future. 

Consanguineal  Love.  —  The  love  of  kindred  is  probably  an  exclu- 
sively human  attribute.  It  is,  however,  in  all  probability,  not  ge- 
nerically  distinct  from  the  consciousness  of  kind  in  general,  but 
is  such  a  special  form  of  it  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  distinct.  It  is 
generically  distinct  from  maternal  love,  although  it  is  felt  by  the 
mother  in  addition  to  that  sentiment.  It  is  the  whole  of  paternal 
love  as  such,  and  also  of  filial  and  fraternal  love.  In  the  horde 
there  naturally  exists  a  sentiment  of  attachment  on  the  part  of  each 
member  of  the  kinship  group  for  all  the  rest.  Under  the  matriar- 
chate  all  consider  themselves  as  brothers  and  sisters,  since  the  father 
is  unknown,  and  in  all  races  where  there  exists  uncertainty  as  to  the 
father,  all  the  members  of  the  clan  are  brothers. 

The  social  value  of  this  sentiment  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  comes 
to  constitute  the  blood  bond,  or  feeling  of  attachment  that  exists 
among  all  the  members  of  an  ethnic  group,  and  this  bond,  as  is  well 
known,  is  exceedingly  strong.  Properly  to  discuss  it,  however,  it  is 
necessary  to  look  specially  at  its  negative  side,  since  it  is  here  that 


416  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [I-AKT  a 

lies  its  dynamic  quality.  In  fact,  it  would  have  been  possible  and 
proper  to  have  treated  all  the  forms  of  love  from  their  negative  or 
correlative  aspects.  For  to  every  love  there  is  a  correlative  hate, 
and  the  force  of  repulsion  is  sometimes  even  more  powerful  than  the 
force  of  attraction.  The  hate  corresponding  to  natural  love,  roman- 
tic love,  and  conjugal  love  takes  the  form  of  jealousy.  In  the  animal 
world,  and  to  some  extent  in  man,  jealousy  is  a  powerful  dynamic 
principle,  but  its  action  is  chiefly  biological.  It  is  the  motive  to  all 
male  rivalry,  and  it  is  through  this  that  were  developed  many  of  the 
most  striking  secondary  sexual  characters,  especially  the  formidable 
weapons  for  fighting,  but  also  strength  of  frame,  muscle  and  sinew. 
But  so  far  as  jealousy  produces  effects  upon  social  structures,  they 
are  chiefly  destructive,  so  that  jealousy  is  in  the  main  an  antisocial 
force.  In  passages  cited  from  Schopenhauer,  Haeckel,  and  others 
these  negative  effects  were  sufficiently  pointed  out,  and  it  was 
scarcely  necessary  to  treat  them  specially.  The  form  of  hate  corre- 
sponding to  maternal  love  is  quite  different.  It  is  mingled  with  fear, 
and  consists  in  general  hostility  to  all  dangerous  or  threatening  in- 
fluences. Any  person,  animal,  or  thing  that  stands,  or  is  thought 
to  stand,  in  that  attitude  is  hated  and  combated. 

When  it  comes  to  consanguineal  love,  especially  in  that  generalized 
form  constituting  the  blood  bond,  the  corresponding  hate  becomes 
race  hatred.  Everybody  has  some  idea  of  what  race  hatred  means, 
for  it  is  not  confined  to  savages,  but  exists  between  the  most  civilized 
peoples.  It  "was  at  the  beginning  and  has  always  remained  the 
principal  cause  of  war.  To  the  sociologist  it  is  one  of  the  prime 
factors  of  social  progress,  since  without  it  there  could  never  have 
been  that  series  of  social  phenomena  described  in  the  tenth  and 
eleventh  chapters,  resulting,  first,  in  the  most  important  social  struc- 
tures —  law,  the  state,  the  people,  the  nation,  —  and  second,  in  the 
most  "important  social  advances  due  to  the  cross  fertilization  of  cul- 
tures. As  these  have  already  been  treated  in  those  chapters,  and 
from  the  economic  side  in  Chapter  XIII,  it  is  only  necessary  here 
to  point  out  their  genetic  connection  with  this  class  of  phylogenetic 
forces,  and  thus  bind  all  together  into  a  single  great  group  of  social 
phenomena,  illustrating  the  law  of  sociological  generalization. 


CHAPTER   XV 
THE   SOCIOGENETIC   FORCES 

THE  sociogenetic  forces,  as  shown  in  Chapter  XII,  are  the  socializ- 
ing and  civilizing  impulses  of  mankind.  In  dealing  with  the  onto- 
genetic  and  phylogenetic  forces  in  the  last  two  chapters  we  have 
been  practically  compelled  to  stop  at  the  point  in  the  historic  devel- 
opment of  the  race  where  the  sociogenetic  forces  began  to  make 
themselves  felt,  because  the  series  of  phenomena  that  subsequently 
took  place  is  so  greatly  influenced  by  them  that  no  adequate  account 
of  them  could  be  given  until  their  special  nature  had  been  pointed 
out.  For,  although  derived  from  the  others  and  deeply  rooted  in 
the  physical  nature  of  man,  the  sociogenetic  forces  as  active  agents 
in  the  world  are  relatively  modern,  and  are  the  genetic  products  of  the 
complicated  series  of  events  brought  about  by  the  action  of  primary 
social  energy.  These  civilizing  energies  are  so  recent  and  so  feebly 
seated  that  even  in  the  most  advanced  races  they  form  as  yet  only 
a  thin  veneering  over  the  fabric  thus  wrought.  Letourneau  well 
says : — 

Looking  beneath  the  glittering  surface  of  our  so-called  (pretendues)  civil- 
ized societies  the  beast  largely  prevails  over  the  angel,  and  taking  existing 
humanity  as  a  whole  it  may  be  said  that  the  higher  class  of  emotional  and 
intellectual  wants  only  constitute  an  epiphenomenon.1 

In  a  general  way  it  may  be  said  that  the  sociogenetic  forces  are 
"  life-mitigating,"  in  the  sense  that  they  constitute  the  means  of  mak- 
ing life  tolerable  to  a  being  capable  of  contemplating  it.  Without 
them  it  would  be  intolerable,  because  it  would  represent  a  pain  econ- 
omy, and  life  in  a  pain  economy  is  only  tolerable  to  a  being  uncon- 
scious of  its  condition  and  living  under  the  optimistic  illusion 
furnished  by  the  primal  impulse  of  self-preservation. 

The  sociogenetic  forces  naturally  fall  into  three  large  groups, 
moral,  esthetic,  and  intellectual,  and  considerable  has  already  been 
said  relative  to  the  best  order  in  which  to  treat  these  groups,  and  the 

1  "La  Sociologie,"  etc.,  p.  37. 
2E  417 


418  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

reasons  therefor  have  been  discussed.  No  linear  or  chronological 
order  is  possible,  as  all  three  originated,  or  rather  made  themselves 
distinctly  felt,  at  nearly  the  same  stage  in  human  development.  The 
classification  according  to  relative  nobility  or  worthiness  is  scarcely 
legitimate,  as  no  two  would  perhaps  agree  upon  it.  That  arrange- 
ment which  seeks  to  determine  the  relative  developmental  grade  of 
the  three  classes  seems  the  most  in  harmony  with  biological  and 
evolutionary  treatment,  but  as  they  are  distinct  branches  and  no  one 
is  developed  out  of  another,  this  is  practicable  only  to  a  limited  ex- 
tent. If  we  ask  which  one  has  contributed  most  to  the  general  end 
of  them  all  —  civilization  —  we  may  get  varying  answers.  Most 
writers  put  the  moral  sentiments  last  in  a  climactic  arrangement, 
as  the  highest  from  this  point  of  view  —  the  true,  the  beautiful,  the 
good  —  but  I  would  myself  question  this,  and  would  award  the  claim 
to  the  true.  Perhaps  upon  the  whole  the  best  ground  for  an  arrange- 
ment of  the  sociogenetic  forces  is  their  immediate  derivation  from 
the  essential  forces,  and  especially  from  the  phylogenetic  group, 
placing  that  class  first  which  seems  to  emerge  most  immediately 
out  of  the  latter.  This  would  at  once  dispose  of  the  intellectual 
forces  as  most  remote  from  this  point  of  view,  and  narrow  the  ques- 
tion down  to  the  moral  and  esthetic  forces.  Here  there  seems  to  be 
little  room  for  a  preference.  The  intimate  association  of  all  ideas 
of  beauty  with  the  reproductive  process  may  be  evenly  paired  with 
that  widespread  system  of  animal  altruism  which  is  based  on  the 
necessity  of  continuing  the  race.  There  are  other  considerations 
that  cannot  well  be  entered  into  here,  but  which  will  be  fully  set 
forth  in  connection  with  the  moral  forces,  which  turn  the  scale  here 
in  my  mind  in  favor  of  giving  this  class  the  first  place,  and  the  order 
of  treatment  will  therefore  be,  as  already  given,  viz.,  1,  the  moral 
forces ;  2,  the  esthetic  forces ;  3,  the  intellectual  forces. 

THE  MORAL  FORCES 

Considered  from  the  standpoint  of  its  origin,  morality  is  of  two 
kinds :  race  morality  and  individual  morality.  The  roots  of  both  of 
these  classes  penetrate  very  deeply.  Both  of  them,  as  I  view  the 
subject,  are  exclusively  human  attributes,  but  both  have  their  strict 
homologues  in  the  animal  world.  As  the  passage  from  animality  to 
humanity  was  wholly  the  result  of  brain  development  and  consequent 


CH.  xv]  RACE  MORALITY  419 

dawn  of  intelligence,  so  both  kinds  of  morality  were  the  products  of 
the  rational  faculty,  and  the  difference  between  them  and  their  ani- 
mal homologues  is  the  difference  between  conscious  and  unconscious 
acts  that  subserve  the  same  ends.  The  animal  homologue  of  race 
morality  is  instinct,  and  that  of  individual  morality  is  animal,  or,  as 
it  may  also  be  called,  reproductive  altruism.  In  one  sense  they  all 
aim  at  race  preservation,  but  the  last  couple  reach  the  race  through 
the  individual. 

Race  Morality.  —  Under  the  head  of  "  Restraints  to  Feeling,"  in 
Chapter  VII,  attention  was  called  to  the  "  instinct  of  race  safety  " 
that  arose  under  the  influence  of  the  collective  or  group  reason  to 
offset  the  tendency  to  waywardness  that  individual  reason  had  so 
greatly  increased,  and  which  instinct  no  longer  prevented.  This  was 
characterized  (p.  187)  as  the  social  imperative,  or  primordial  plasma 
out  of  which  were  subsequently  differentiated  nearly  all  important 
human  institutions  —  religion,  law,  government,  custom,  etc.  It  was 
certainly  the  beginning  of  race  morality,  the  primary  factor  of  which 
was  the  mos,  from  which  term  the  word  moral  is  derived.  This  form 
of  morality  operates  entirely  in  the  interest  of  function  and  against 
the  claims  of  feeling.  It  seems  therefore  to  be  precisely  the  opposite 
of  the  currently  accepted  morality,  which,  as  has  been  shown  (supra, 
p.  131),  is  based  wholly  on  feeling.  For  however  much  it  may 
be  necessary  to  restrain  feeling,  the  moral  quality  can  only  arise  in 
connection  with  feeling  creatures.  But  race  morality  is  no  more 
concerned  with  the  feelings  of  the  individual  than  nature  seems  to 
be  when  everything  is  sacrificed  to  tke  safety  of  the  race.  In  fact, 
in  race  morality  man  simply  assists  nature,  or  becomes  an  integral 
part  of  the  natural  forces  that  make  for  race  preservation.  The 
group  puts  its  sanction  upon  everything  that  has  this  tendency.  It 
is  the  "  ultra-rational  sanction  "  of  Benjamin  Kidd. 

Eace  morality,  therefore,  consists  essentially  in  custom,  and  if  the 
customs  of  the  world  are  all  scrutinized  the  majority  of  them  will 
be  found  to  consist  in  restraints  to  conduct  inimical  to  race  safety. 
At  least  such  was  their  primitive  purpose,  but  many  have  of  course 
departed  widely  from  that  purpose,  which  may  now  be  difficult  to 
trace.  Here  it  becomes  difficult  to  distinguish  morals  from  religion. 
The  latter  is  little  more  than  the  addition  of  supernatural  penalties 
for  the  violation  of  the  laws  of  race  safety.  This  is  probably  the 
basis  for  the  widespread  belief  that  religion  is  essentially  moral. 


420  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

The  current  moral  teaching,  moral  philosophy,  or  as  it  is  some- 
times ostentatiously  and  erroneously  called,  "moral  science,"  con- 
sists essentially  in  a  morality  of  restraint,  and  is  undoubtedly  a 
survival  of  primitive  race  morality,  although  its  teachers  do  not 
know  this.  Most  of  its  precepts  are  negative  or  prohibitory.  It  is 
based  on  the  deep-seated  sense  of  the  danger  of  over-indulging  the 
passions.  It  is  commonly  supposed  that  it  is  the  injury  that 
"  wrong  "  actions  do  either  to  the  agent  himself  or  to  others  that  is 
embodied  in  its  moral  prohibition.  This  is  a  mistake,  and  explains 
why  no  amount  of  proof  that  an  act  contrary  to  the  accepted  moral 
code  really  does  no  harm  to  any  one  is  accepted  as  a  justification  of 
such  an  act.  He  who  so  argues,  no  matter  how  cogently,  is  told 
that  the  act  is  wrong,  not  on  account  of  its  effects,  but  simply  be- 
cause it  is  wrong;  that  there  is  an  abstract  right  and  an  abstract 
wrong,  irrespective  of  the  effects  in  any  particular  case.  Kant's 
rule  of  conduct :  "  Always  act  on  a  principle  that  you  would  like  to 
see  erected  into  a  universal  law,"  is  quoted  at  him,  and  he  is  told 
that  there  exists  a  "  pure  morals "  or  "  absolute  ethics."  A  few 
may  try  to  explain  that  the  case  in  question  is  an  exception,  and 
that  it  will  not  do  to  allow  any  one  to  be  a  judge  for  himself  of  the 
effects  of  his  actions.  Or  they  may  deny  the  possibility  that  any 
one  can  foresee  all  the  effects  of  an  action,  and  say  that  it  is  unsafe 
to  trust  present  indications  in  this  respect.  But  the  majority  decline 
to  discuss  the  question  at  all,  since  this  might  be  construed  into  an 
admission  that  exceptions  were  possible,  and  stand  firmly  on  the 
ground  of  the  infallibility  of  the  moral  code. 

All  this  difficulty  is  caused  by  the  failure  to  distinguish  between 
race  morality  and  individual  morality,  and  to  recognize  the  fact  that 
the  prevailing  morality  of  restraint  is  simply  a  survival  of  the 
former.  The  effect  of  the  action  upon  individuals  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  its  Tightness  or  wrongness.  The  bottom  of  it 
all  is  the  effect  on  the  safety  of  the  human  race.  "  Duty  "  is  simply 
conduct  favorable  to  race  safety.  Virtue  is  an  attitude  of  life  and 
character  consistent  with  the  preservation  and  continuance  of  man 
on  earth.  Vice  is  the  reverse  of  this,  and  is  felt  as  an  attack  upon 
the  race.  These  sentiments  are  difficult  to  analyze,  and  the  moral 
reformer  seldom  or  never  knows  that  this  is  what  he  feels  when  he 
preaches  morality.  Usually  theological  in  his  make-up,  he  thinks 
that  moral  conduct  is  pleasing  to  God,  and  regards  this  as  the  real 


CH.  xv]  RACE  MORALITY  421 

sanction,  regardless  of  its  effects.  Here  is  where  morals  and  religion 
most  closely  approach  each  other,  for  at  the  beginning  all  religion 
was  race  perception  (Gattungsempfindung'),  and  the  creation  of  gods 
whose  supposed  will  is  thwarted  by  conduct  dangerous  to  the  race 
was  simply  a  means  of  enabling  the  feeble  mind  of  the  individual  to 
distinguish  right  from  wrong  conduct. 

Mr.  Spencer  argued  valiantly  in  "  Social  Statics  "  (1850)  for  an  abso- 
lute ethics,  but  after  studying  the  moral  codes  of  uncivilized  races 
and  finding  that  there  were  no  standards  of  right  and  wrong,  he 
repudiated  his  early  views  and  edited  them  all  out  of  the  revised 
edition  of  that  work.  This  was  inconsistent,  which  is  no  disparage- 
ment to  a  great  mind,  it  is  true ;  but  it  was  not  logical.  He  should 
have  learned  in  all  his  investigations  that  the  ethics  of  all  uncivil- 
ized races  is  chiefly  race  ethics.  From  this  point  of  view  no 
amount  of  incongruity  in  ethical  conceptions  could  affect  their 
ethical  character.  If  we  can  get  rid  entirely  of  the  idea  that 
"  good "  and  "  evil "  have  any  connection  whatever  with  benefit  or 
injury  to  the  individual  or  to  any  sentient  being,  and  clearly  grasp 
the  truth  that  they  relate  exclusively  to  race  safety  and  race 
danger,  we  can  see  that  the  quality  of  actions  approved  or  disap- 
proved has  nothing  to  do  with  the  pleasure  or  pain  they  may  cause, 
but  relates  solely  to  their  effect  upon  the  race  which  is  not  a  sen- 
tient thing.  The  idea  of  the  race,  however,  narrows  as  we  descend  in 
the  scale  of  civilization,  and  with  the  savage  it  is  limited  to  his  own 
race,  tribe,  clan,  or  horde.  It  is  said  that  theft  and  murder  are 
regarded  as  moral  acts  among  some  savages.  This  is  probably  not 
true  within  the  horde,  clan,  tribe,  etc.,  which  places  such  acts  in  a 
different  class  from  that  now  under  consideration,  a  class  soon  to  be 
considered.  But  even  if  true,  these  and  many  other  acts  sanctioned 
by  the  codes  of  savages  which  are  severely  condemned  by  our  own, 
may  be  regarded  as  safe,  may  indeed  be  safe  for  such  peoples  from 
the  standpoint  of  race  preservation,  which  is  the  only  standpoint  in 
race  morality. 

The  view  that  the  morality  of  restraint  is  a  survival  of  primitive 
race  morality  is  the  only  one  consistent  with  its  defense,  for  most  of 
it  tends  to  dimmish  the  amount  of  enjoyment  instead  of  tending  to 
increase  it,  as  the  opposite  view  would  require.  Whether  it  actually 
does  secure  race  safety  is  another  question.  It  may  be  only  a  social 
vestige,  and  as  such  have  a  somewhat  pathologic  character. 


422  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  a 

Individual  Morality.  —  Individual  morality  is  based  on  altruism. 
This  term  is  not  synonymous  with  sympathy  if  we  extend  it  to 
animals.  Animal  altruisin  is  a  true  instinct,  and  however  beautiful 
it  may  be  painted,  it  is  not  sympathy  or  compassion  that  prompts 
the  "  nurse  "  to  allow  herself  to  be  devoured  by  the  brood  of  cercariae 
within  her  in  order  that  they  may  live,  or  that  causes  the  male  spider 
or  mantis  to  sacrifice  his  life  in  fecundating  the  female  for  the  good 
of  the  species.  The  sociologist  may  therefore  content  himself  with 
the  mention  of  this  animal  homologue  of  human  altruism  as  one  of 
those  great  tap-roots  that  sociology  sends  far  down  into  biology. 
Human  altruism,  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  biological,  is  based  on  sym- 
pathy, and  this  is  also  the  basis  of  all  morality  except  race  morality. 
If  we  except  this  and  animal  altruism  we  have  left  the  popular 
avowed  notion  of  morality,  although,  as  already  remarked,  race 
morality  is  almost  everywhere  deeply  but  unconsciously  felt  by 
civilized  man. 

A  great  many  attempts  have  been  made  to  work  out  the  genesis 
of  the  moral  sense.  These  have  all  had  two  fatal  vices,  first  its 
objectivation,  and  second  its  divorce  from  psychology.  Of  the  first 
of  these  it  need  only  be  said  that  there  is  no  moral  sense  as  anything 
distinct  from  other  psychic  attributes,  as  a  something  apart,  existing 
in  and  for  itself,  and  constituting  a  distinct  field  of  its  own.  If 
there  were  it  could  have  no  genesis.  As  to  the  second  vice  in  trying 
to  arrive  at  the  origin  of  the  moral  sense,  it  is  certain  that  it  cannot 
be  considered  apart  from  the  mind  of  man.  In  so  far  as  it  is  any- 
thing at  all  it  is  a  part  of  mind.  Moreover,  it  is  a  complex  psychic 
product  and  depends  upon  the  cooperation  and  combination  of  both 
the  subjective  and  the  objective  faculties.  Its  treatment  from  the 
genetic  standpoint  must  therefore  involve  a  slight  anticipation  of  the 
discussion  to  be  found  in  the  next  chapter  and  in  Part  III  generally. 
At  present,  however,  we  are  considering  it  only  as  a  social  force,  and 
shall  presuppose  a  knowledge  of  the  human  mind  to  that  extent. 

First  of  all  then,  be  it  said,  morality  is  a  product  of  brain  develop- 
ment. It  is  true  that  everything  else  exclusively  human  is  also  a 
product  of  brain  development,  and  that  in  real  truth  if  the  being 
called  man  had  had  every  other  attribute  that  he  has  and  had  not 
had  a  very  much  greater  brain  development  than  any  other  animal 
he  would  have  been  no  more  than  any  other  animal  of  the  same  taxo- 
nomic  rank.  But  the  "moral  sense,"  the  conscious  altruism,  the 


en.  xv]  INDIVIDUAL  MORALITY  423 

ability  to  feel  with  other  feeling  beings,  was  not  an  early  psychic 
attribute,  but  required  a  relatively  high  degree  of  brain  develop- 
ment. As  has  been  said  before,  it  consists  in  a  power  of  represent- 
ing the  psychic  states  of  others  to  self,  and  the  nerve  adjustment 
necessary  to  produce  a  reflex  vibration  of  the  kind  called  a  sensa- 
tion when  such  states  are  thus  represented.  It  is  only  the  intensive 
sensations  that  are  thus  represented,  which  consist,  as  defined  in 
Chapter  VII,  exclusively  of  pleasurable  and  painful  states.  But 
these  states,  as  much  as  any  other  states  of  consciousness,  are  to 
another  consciousness,  "  ejects," l  in  the  sense  given  to  that  term  by 
Professor  Clifford.  Notwithstanding  the  amount  of  pedantic  refine- 
ment and  copious  dilution  that  this  word  has  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  smaller  men,  it  still  has  some  value  as  an  expression  of  a  truth 
that  is  somewhat  difficult  to  grasp,  and  one  that  is  broader  even  than 
Clifford  himself  supposed.  There  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
extend  to  intensive  feelings  as  well  as  to  indifferent  ones.  The 
power  of  representation  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the 
growing  intellect,  but  it  is  twofold,  or  takes  two  different  directions, 
producing  two  distinct  psychic  faculties,  the  one  subjective,  the  other 
objective.  The  subjective  faculty  produced  by«representation  is  sym- 
pathy, the  objective  one  is  imagination.  We  have  only  to  do  with  the 
first  of  these  here. 

That  sympathy  is  a  rational  faculty  admits  of  no  doubt.  The 
syllogism  of  sympathy  is  this :  A  given  influence  produces  pain  (or 
pleasure)  in  me ;  you  are  like  me ;  therefore  the  same  influence  will 
produce  pain  (or  pleasure)  in  you.  But  this  reasoning  in  and  of 
itself  is  feelingless.  To  constitute  a  motive  to  action,  i.e.,  a  force, 
there  must  be  developed  in  the  nervous  system  a  reflex  responsive- 
ness such  that  the  previously  experienced  sensations  of  pain  or 
pleasure  caused  by  the  influence  shall  be  remembered  and  revived, 

i  "  The  inferred  existence  of  your  feelings,  of  objective  groupings  among  them  simi- 
lar to  those  among  my  feelings,  and  of  a  subjective  order  in  many  respects  analogous 
to  my  own,  — these  inferred  existences  are  in  the  very  act  of  inference  thrown  outot 
my  consciousness,  recognized  as  outside  of  it,  as  not  being  a  part  of  me.  I  propose, 
accordingly,  to  call  these  inferred  existences  ejects,  things  thrown  out  of  my  con- 
sciousness, to  distinguish  them  from  objects,  things  presented  in  my  consciousness, 
phenomena."  — "On  the  Nature  of  Things  in  Themselves,"  by  William  Kingdon 
Clifford.  Mind,  a  Quarterly  Review  of  Psychology  and  Philosophy,  London,  Vol. 
Ill,  No.  9,  January,  1878,  pp.  57-67.  Passage  quoted  occurs  on  p.  58.  Also  ill 
"Essays  by  the  Late  William  Kingdon  Clifford,"  edited  by  Leslie  Stephen  and 
Frederick  Pollock.  Second  edition,  London,  1886,  pp.  274-286.  Passage  quoted 
occurs  on  p.  275. 


424  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

that  is,  repeated  as  part  of  the  "  faint  series  "  corresponding  to  the 
"  vivid  series  "  of  sensations  that  were  caused  by  the  influence  itself. 
It  requires  a  considerable  number  of  words  to  express  this  idea,  but 
the  idea  itself  is  not  so  complex,  It  is  simply  that  no  one  ever 
analyzes  it,  and  therefore  there  are  no  special  terms  by  which  it  can 
be  briefly  expressed.  Nevertheless,  all  developed  human  beings 
constantly  experience  it.  It  might  be  an  idle  speculation  to  try  to 
ascertain  the  absolute  beginning  of  sympathy.  It  may  be  the  reverse 
of  Spencer's  idea  that  it  grew  out  of  "  love  of  the  helpless."  It  is, 
indeed,  probable  that  this  was  about  the  earliest  manifestation  of  sym- 
pathy. It  may  also  be  that  it  first  appeared  in  woman  as  a  mother 
with  her  strong  native  love  of  her  offspring,  which,  though  in  itself 
an  entirely  different  faculty,  early  blended  with,  or  helped  to  create, 
the  derivative  reason-born  faculty  of  altruism. 

The  faint  series  of  psychic  phenomena  is  as  strictly  subjective  as 
is  the  vivid  series.  It  resides  in  the  person's  self  or  ego,  and  is  in 
this  only  true  sense  egoistic.  Altruism  thus  has  an  egoistic  basis, 
or  more  properly,  is  a  form  of  egoism.  It  might  be  called  reflex 
egoism.  The  subjective  ejects  —  other  people's  feelings  —  act  upon 
the  ego  and  produce  sknilar  but  usually  less  intense  feelings.  Altru- 
ism or  sympathy  would  not  be  a  force,  it  could  not  be  a  motive,  if  it 
did  not  reside  in  the  agent,  i.e.,  if  it  were  not  egoistic.  All  motives 
are  necessarily  egoistic.  To  condemn  a  motive  because  egoistic  is 
therefore  to  condemn  all  motives.  But  the  origin  of  subjective 
reflex  motives  marked  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  man.  From  the 
standpoint  of  sociology  and  of  human  progress  generally,  this  was 
the  most  important  of  all  the  steps  the  race  has  taken.  The  egoistic 
reason  unaided  by  the  altruistic  reason  could  only  work  such  results 
as  the  subjection  of  woman  and  the  aggrandizement  of  the  strong. 
These,  if  continued  long  enough  and  not  counteracted,  would  become 
highly  antisocial.  They  might  even  bring  about  the  destruction  of 
the  race. 

Altruism  is  therefore  an  essentially  socializing  force,  i.e.,  it  is 
sociogenetic.  Its  name  alone  reveals  its  social  character.  Although 
itself  egoistic  it  always  expends  itself  on  another.  There  can  be  no 
altruism  without  an  alter.  Altruism  is  not  strictly  synonymous 
with  sympathy.  The  latter,  though  not  necessarily  negative,  is 
usually  so  used.  It  is  representative  pain;  scarcely  representa- 
tive pleasure.  Altruism  applies  equally  to  both.  Neither  is 


CH.  xv]  INDIVIDUAL  MORALITY  425 

altruism  synonymous  with  benevolence,  still  less  with  beneficence. 
On  this  point  Mr.  Spencer  remarks :  — 

I  gladly  adopt  this  word,  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  M.  Comte.  Not 
long  since  some  critic,  condemning  it  as  new-fangled,  asked  why  we  should 
not  be  content  with  such  good  old-fashioned  words  as  benevolent  and  benefi- 
cent. There  is  quite  sufficient  reason.  Altruism  and  altruistic,  suggesting 
by  their  forms  as  well  as  by  their  meanings  the  antitheses  of  egoism  and 
egoistic,  bring  quickly  and  clearly  into  thought  the  opposition,  in  a  way  that 
benevolence  or  beneficence  and  its  derivatives  do  not,  because  the  antitheses 
are  not  directly  implied  by  them.  This  superior  suggestiveness  greatly 
facilitates  the  communication  of  ethical  ideas.1 

There  are  of  course  those  who  criticise  the  form  of  the  word  as 
derived  directly  from  the  French  autrui,  but  retaining  the  I  of  the 
Latin  alter,2  but  altrism  would  be  far  less  euphonious,  and  autruism 
would  be  barbarous.  The  objection  is  captious.  Cornte  worked  up 
to  the  use  of  the  word  in  a  wholly  spontaneous  way.  Elaborating 
his  favorite  aphorism :  "  vivre  pour  autrui,"  he  found  himself  in 
need  of  an  adjective  for  the  oposite  of  egoistic,  and  he  used  altruistic 
(altruiste 3),  and  needing  a  noun  for  the  opposite  of  egoism,  he  used 
altruism  (altruisme 4) .  Nothing  more  natural. 

But  altruism  differs  from  sympathy  in  another  respect.  Sym- 
pathy is  not  necessarily  a  desire.  It  is  simply  a  feeling.  True,  it 
naturally  suggests  action.  Being  a  pain,  like  other  pains  that  are 
not  desires,  it  naturally,  but  not  necessarily,  gives  rise  to  a  desire 
to  act  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  relief  from  the  pain.  This  in- 
volves an  intellectual  operation,  a  knowledge  of  how  to  act  to 
attain  the  end.  There  are  many  pains  which  the  sufferer  does 
not  know  how  to  relieve,  and  therefore  does  not  act.  Sympathy 
may  sometimes  be  such  a  pain.  Altruism  is  a  complex  conception. 
It  is  sympathy  plus  the  desire  to  act.  Or  it  may  be  representative 
enjoyment  plus  the  desire  to  increase  the  enjoyment  observed 
and  represented.  It  is  not  merely  a  feeling,  it  is  also  a  motive.  If 
that  motive  psychologically  be  the  desire  to  diminish  pain  or  in- 
crease pleasure  in  self,  it  has  the  unique  quality  that  what  it  does  to 
self  it  must  do  to  another  in  a  degree  as  much  greater  as  presenta- 

1  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  New  York,  1873,  p.  607,  footnote  to  Altruis- 
tic Sentiments,  title  of  Chapter  VIII. 

2  Paul  Earth,  "  Die  Philosophic  der  Geschichte   als  Sociologie,"  Leipzig,   1897, 
p.  25. 

»  "Politique  Positive,"  Vol.  Ill  (1853),  p.  700. 
*  Ibid.,  p.  727. 


426  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

tive  sensations  are  stronger  than  representative  ones.  All  action, 
therefore,  produced  by  this  motive  necessarily  benefits  others  more 
than  it  benefits  self,  and  it  cannot  injure  either  unless  accidentally 
misguided. 

Finally,  the  necessity  that  in  all  altruistic  action  at  least  two 
individuals  be  affected  renders  it  essentially  social.  Its  primary 
quality  is  sociability.  Altruism  and  sociability  are  indissolubly 
connected.  Ethnologists  find  it  difficult  to  distinguish  the  two  con- 
ceptions. It  is  preeminently  a  collective  sentiment.  This  is  the 
proof  at  once  of  the  sociogenetic  character  of  altruism  and  of  the 
sociological  character  of  ethics.  Sociability  arises  as  a  natural  and 
necessary  consequence  of  altruism,  and  without  a  certain  amount  of 
sociability  there  could  be  no  proper  society.  Altruism  thus  takes 
the  form  of  love.  Though  not  identical  with  any  of  the  forms  con- 
sidered in  the  last  chapter,  and  not  in  any  correct  sense  phylogenetic 
or  sexual,  yet,  as  a  still  later  derivative  form  of  love  than  any  of 
those,  it  belongs  to  the  same  great  line  of  development  of  the 
affective  sentiments  of  mankind,  and  has  grown  out  of  one  or  other 
of  the  properly  phylogenetic  forms.  Its  far  deeper  unconscious  root 
in  the  altruism  of  animal  reproduction  has  already  been  noted. 
After  suffering  a  complete  eclipse  through  all  the  higher  grades 
of  animal  life  and  through  the  earlier  periods  of  human  life,  it 
was  rebaptized  by  the  dawning  reason  of  man  and  came  forth  anew 
in  a  higher  purified  form  as  the  first  great  socializing  agent  of  the 
world. 

Ethical  Dualism.  — Already  on  more  than  one  occasion  it  has  been 
found  necessary  to  allude  to  the  well-known  but  long  nameless 
fact  which  Dr.  Edward  A.  Ross  has  so  appropriately  called  ethical 
dualism  (see  supra,  p.  187).  Whatever  further  needs  to  be  said, 
including  all  discussion  of  its  origin  and  true  nature,  belongs 
here.  But  the  fact  itself  is  too  familiar  to  require  any  elaborate 
treatment.  When  we  speak  of  altruism  a  very  different  idea  arises 
in  the  mind  from  that  which  it  is  necessary  to  form  of  the  altruism 
of  primitive  man.  The  difference  is  not  so  much  in  the  nature  of 
the  sentiment  as  in  its  object  or  range.  It  was  said  that  altruism 
primarily  grew  out  of  the  phylogenetic  affections  or  forms  of  love. 
We  have  now  to  determine  from  which  one  of  these  forms  it  was 
derived.  It  was  stated  that  the  arrangement  of  those  forms  in  the 
last  chapter  was  not  or  could  not  be  linear  or  chronological,  for 


cu.  xv]  ETHICAL  DUALISM  427 

maternal  love  is  quite  as  old  as  natural  love  and  far  older  than 
romantic  love.  It  might  have  been  pointed  out  that  natural  love 
and  maternal  love  each  begins  a  series  of  its  own,  and  that  there  are 
thus  two  great  trunk  lines  of  phylogenetic  motives.  Consanguineal 
love  is  obviously  derived  from,  or  intimately  bound  up  with  maternal 
love,  and  whether  it  should  be  classed  as  phylogenetic  may  be  open 
to  question.  However  this  may  be,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
altruism,  or  other-love,  in  its  rudimentary  form  is  a  direct  offshoot 
from  cousanguineal  love.  It  begins  with  the  nearest  of  kin  and  is 
very  slow  to  emerge  from  that  condition.  We  actually  carried  con- 
sanguineal  love  far  enough  to  include  the  primitive  blood  bond,  and 
if  that  ends  with  the  blood  bond,  altruism  begins  with  the  blood 
bond.  In  the  horde  and  even  in  the  clan  there  exists  a  certain 
attachment,  amounting  in  the  end  to  an  affection,  on  the  part  of 
every  member,  to  and  for  every  other  member  of  the  group.  This 
is  the  extent  of  primitive  altruism,  and  beyond  the  group,  as  was 
pointed  out,  in  place  of  love  or  affection  there  is  hate  or  detestation. 
From  this  point  on  there  is  an  ever  widening  circle  within  which 
this  altruistic  affection  goes  out.  It  may  be  compared  to  a  circular 
wave  on  the  surface  of  a  pool  produced  by  a  stone  dropped  into  its 
center.  At  each  wave  the  area  of  the  circle  increases,  but  at  the 
same  time  the  intensity  of  the  force  and  influence  diminishes. 
Maternal  love  is  the  most  intense  of  all  affections,  but  it  is  also 
the  most  restricted.  Parental  love  is  an  increase  in  the  amplitude 
with  a  diminution  of  the  intensity.  The  more  general  forms  of 
consanguineal  love  repeat  the  process  in  the  same  way  and  when 
the  kinship  group  becomes  large  the  same  absolute  quantity  of  force 
may  be  regarded  as  distributing  itself  to  all  the  members.  At  last 
the  personal  element  is  lost  sight  of  and  we  have  simple  race 
attachment.  As  the  hordes  combine  to  form  clans  the  process  is 
simply  extended,  and  the  same  is  true  for  the  more  composite 
groups.  As  the  protosocial  period  draws  to  a  close  and  social 
differentiation  is  succeeded  by  social  integration  through  the  encroach- 
ment of  tribe  upon  tribe,  through  consequent  increased  race  hatred, 
constant  collision,  and  the  resultant  war  and  conquest  of  the  weaker 
by  the  stronger,  new  complications  arise.  Race  antipathy  continues 
long  after  fertilization,  but  gradually  subsides  in  rhythmic  oscilla- 
tions during  the  process  of  social  karyokinesis  and  final  amalgama- 
tion, as  described  in  Chapter  X.  But  at  last,  when  the  stage  is 


428  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

reached  at  which  a  new  people  and  a  nation  are  formed,  the  altru- 
istic principle  reappears  in  a  new  form.  The  amalgamated  mass 
becomes  a  unit  and  the  original  blood  bond  has  its  counterpart  in 
what  is  vaguely  called  love  of  country,  in  which  conception  the 
people  are  included  along  with  the  land  and  physical  environment. 
Patriotism,  which  was  analyzed  in  Chapter  XIII,  is  therefore  a 
form  of  mutual  attachment  among  all  the  members  of  a  people. 
It  is  at  once  altruism  and  sociability.  Notwithstanding  the  entire 
difference  of  origin  it  still  greatly  resembles  the  primitive  blood 
bond  and  is  dual  in  the  same  sense.  There  is  still  the  correlative 
race  hatred,  or  as  it  may  now  be  called,  national  antipathy.  This 
in  turn  results  in  wars  and  conquests  on  a  higher  plane,  and  these 
are  followed  by  the  same  prolonged  train  of  events  as  in  simple 
assimilation.  The  effect  is  to  widen  the  circle,  and  after  numerous 
repetitions  of  the  process  the  great  nations  of  the  world  are 
ultimately  produced.  But  that  high  national  sentiment  that  we 
here  find  does  not  differ  essentially  from  the  lower  type.  It  con- 
forms, moreover,  to  the  law  above  stated,  diminishing  in  intensity 
with  increasing  amplitude.  If  any  one  is  disposed  to  question  this 
as  to  the  positive  form,  he  will  certainly  admit  it  for  the  negative 
form.  If  patriotism  is  not  waning  national  antipathy  certainly  is. 
But  a  careful  study  of  advanced  nations  shows  a  marked  growth 
of  the  cosmopolitan  spirit,  which  necessarily  involves  less  relative 
attachment  for  the  people  and  country  of  one's  birth. 

At  any  stage,  however,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  man's  moral  nature 
has  always  been  dual.  The  sacred  books  of  the  Hebrew  race  show 
conclusively  that  morality  was  one  thing  for  the  Jew  and  another 
for  the  Gentile.  With  the  Greeks  all  outside  of  Greece  were 
"01  ftdpfiapoi."  It  was  not  otherwise  in  Home,  and  it  has  always 
been  so  for  all  peoples  and  nations.  Persons  who  may  be  very  sym- 
pathetic as  regards  others  of  their  own  race  are  often  utterly  indif- 
ferent to  those  of  another  race.  The  Irish  immigrants  and  settlers  in 
America  are  intensely  sensitive  to  the  real  or  supposed  sufferings 
of  their  own  race  in  Ireland,  but  few  of  them  would  care  how  much 
an  Englishman  might  suffer.  One  of  the  worst  massacres  of  the 
Chinese  in  the  west  was  perpetrated  by  Irishmen  who  were  as  recent 
arrivals  in  the  country  as  the  Chinese,  and  who  in  butchering  them 
denounced  them  as  "bloodie  furriners" —  a  typical  example  of 
ethical  dualism. 


<3H.  xv]  ETHICAL   DUALISM  429 

It  is  only  with  the  highest  types  of  men  in  enlightened  nations 
that  the  widest  circles  of  ethical  influence  are  produced.  Here  we 
find  a  few  individuals  who  are  called  philanthropists,  and  whose 
altruism  is  less  or  not  at  all  limited  by  considerations  of  race  or 
nationality.  Sympathy  here  often  outruns  the  judgment  and  in- 
volves inconsistencies  and  wasted  effort.  The  greatest  danger  is  in 
ignoring  the  law  of  parsimony  and  creating  parasitic  degenerates 
{see  supra,  p.  61).  A  curious  fact  in  connection  with  this  is  that 
the  great  conquering  races  are  the  most  philanthropic,  the  most 
altruistic.  Neither  are  they  always  the  most  scientific  in  conduct- 
ing charitable  operations. 

Humanitarianism  may  be  distinguished  from  philanthropy  as  a 
still  further  step  in  the  same  direction,  in  which  benevolent  senti- 
ments are  placed  more  under  the  control  of  reason  and  philosophy. 
Properly  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  dispensing  charity,  but  seeks 
rather  to  reorganize  society  so  that  the  minimum  pain  and  the  maxi- 
mum enjoyment  may  be  insured.  Its  aim  is  meliorism.  In  its  most 
advanced  form  it  eschews  measures  and  devotes  itself  to  the  propa- 
gation of  ideas,  and  especially  to  the  diffusion  of  those  forms  of 
knowledge  which,  universally  shared,  will  spontaneously  and  auto- 
matically work  all  needed  and  all  possible  reform. 

The  love  of  animals,  which  might  be  called  philozoism,  may  be  re- 
garded as  still  another  step  in  the  spread  of  altruistic  sentiments, 
including  now  all  sentient  beings  in  its  wide  embrace.  If  this  were 
really  added  on  to  humanitarianism,  such  would  be  the  case,  but  it 
must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  various  erratic  forms  of  the 
sentiment  which  may  exist  without  the  coexistence  of  any  of  the 
other  forms.  Such  are  the  cases  of  inconsistent  sympathy  lacking 
all  rational  basis  and  all  true  perspective  and  producing  such  social 
anomalies  as,  for  example,  the  antivivisection  movement.  It  may 
also  be  due  to  the  absurdities  of  a  cult,  such  as  that  of  holding 
sacred  the  venomous  cobra  and  dangerous  leopard.  Even  vermin 
are  held  sacred  by  some  races  and  allowed  to  generate  filth  and 
disease.  A  true,  rational,  and  consistent  love  of  animals  and  man 
because  they  are  all  feeling  creatures  is  a  noble  impulse  and  marks 
the  highest  point  in  purely  ethical  development. 

Here  we  should  probably  stop,  but  there  is  another  step  that 
seems  to  be  in  the  same  direction,  although  it  transcends  the 
bounds  of  the  ethical  world  and  hence  can  scarcely  be  called  a 


430  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

form  of  altruism.  I  refer  to  the  love  of  nature.  It  is  not  love  in  the 
sense  of  possible  sympathy  or  of  any  conceivable  benefit  that  can 
be  done,  and  yet  it  still  is  love.  It  is  the  connecting  link  between 
the  moral  and  the  esthetic,  and  yet  it  is  not  wholly  a  sense  of  pleas- 
ure in  the  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  or  the  sublime.  It  is  per- 
haps rather  a  religious  sentiment,  and  is  probably  the  last  and  final 
stopping  place  of  religion.  But  still  it  is  a  feeling  —  das  Naturge- 
fiihl  —  and  when  fully  analyzed  and  understood  it  will,  I  think,  be 
found  to  be  the  most  elevated  of  all  sentiments.  It  is  the  most  dis- 
interested, since  there  is  no  possible  way  in  which  man  can  contrib- 
ute anything  to  nature.  It  is  also  wholly  free  from  all  expectation 
of  material  benefit  from  nature.  In  its  highest  expressions  it  even 
goes  beyond  admiration,  because  wonder  is  a  mark  of  the  unde- 
veloped mind.  It  is  not  curiosity  to  know  more  of  nature,  although 
this,  or  at  least  an  ardent  desire  to  do  so,  necessarily  accompanies  it. 
Reduced  to  its  simplest  terms  it  is  nothing  more  than  an  apprecia- 
tion of  nature.  But  when  we  reflect  on  what  is  implied  in  nature 
this  is  seen  to  be  a  lofty  sentiment.  For  nature  is  infinite,  and  the 
serious  contemplation  of  nature  brings  the  mind  into  relations  with 
the  infinite.  It  is  this  which  gives  both  dignity  and  charm  to  the 
sentiment,  and  connects  it  with  religion,  which,  as  Ratzenhofer  says, 
is  at  bottom  the  striving  of  the  finite  mind  after  the  infinite. 

Such  is  ethical  dualism,  but  the  point  to  which  we  have  traced  it 
lies  beyond  the  limits  that  are  embraced  by  that  expression.  The 
amplitude  becomes  equal  to  infinity  and  the  intensity  equal  to  zero. 
It  is  no  longer  a  dualism,  it  is  a  monism.  In  ethical  monism,  while 
there  is  no  longer  any  love  in  the  proper  sense,  so  also  there  is  no 
hate.  If  it  could  become  universal  there  would  be  no  need  of  any 
altruism.  Human  beings  and  animals  would  no  more  need  sympathy 
than  do  mountains  and  clouds.  If  all  producible  happiness  were 
actually  produced  and  all  preventable  suffering  were  actually  pre- 
vented there  would  not  only  be  no  "science"  of  ethics,  but  there 
would  be  no  ethics,  no  moral  conduct,  no  conduct  at  all  as  dis- 
tinguished from  natural  activity.  The  world  would  become  "amoral" 
or  anethical.  Ethics,  which  Spencer  erects  into  a  great  science  coor- 
dinate with  and  higher  than  sociology,  would  be  eliminated  from  the 
world  through  the  normal  operation  of  its  own  laws. 

But  we  are  constantly  told  that  what  is  generally  understood  as 
human  progress  or  civilization  does  not  increase  the  general  sum  of 


CH.  xv]  THE   ESTHETIC   FORCES  431 

human  happiness,  or  at  least  not  the  algebraic  sum  of  happiness  and 
misery,  but  rather  that  it  diminishes  it.  To  this  it  can  only  be 
answered  that  neither  those  who  so  assert  nor  those  who  would  take 
the  opposite  view  have  any  means  of  demonstrating  their  proposi- 
tions, there  being  no  unit  of  measurement  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
The  truth  must  be  arrived  at  in  some  other  way,  if  at  all.  In  the 
last  two  chapters  I  have  endeavored  to  show  that  in  both  the  onto- 
genetic  and  the  phylogerietic  development  of  mankind  there  has 
been  a  series  of  upward  steps,  and  that  at  each  step  in  both  the 
means  of  enjoyment  of  the  natural  faculties  has  been  increased. 
Moreover,  it  has  been  shown  that  entirely  new,  albeit  derivative, 
faculties  have  been  developed  capable  of  yielding,  and  actually 
yielding  enjoyments  not  previously  experienced.  I  have  now  shown 
that  the  moral  faculties  are  all  new  and  have  been  added  to  all  these. 
With  all  these  increments  to  the  primitive  faculties  man  has  cer- 
tainly acquired  enormously  increased  capacity  for  enjoyment.  Those 
who  deny  that  the  absolute  sum  of  enjoyment  has  not  been  increased 
must  show  how  this  is  so.  The  burden  of  proof  rests  on  them.  I 
am  not  insensible  to  the  force  of  their  claims,  nor  do  I  deny  that  the 
greatly  perfected  organization  of  man  through  the  influences  I  have 
enumerated  augments  his  susceptibility  to  pain  in  the  same  degree 
as  it  does  that  to  enjoyment.  Nor  do  I  deny  that  defective  social 
organization  results  in  immense  suffering  which  a  coarser  organi- 
zation would  scarcely  feel.  But  here  the  question  transcends  the 
limits  of  pure  sociology.  That  science  only  deals  with  what  has 
been  attained  and  is  likely  to  be  attained  through  the  continued 
operation  of  known  agencies.  Anything  beyond  this  belongs  to 
applied  sociology,  which  deals  with  artificial  means  of  accelerating 
the  spontaneous  processes  of  nature. 

THE  ESTHETIC  FORCES 

The  esthetic  faculty  does  not  seem  to  be  traceable  quite  as  far 
back  as  is  animal  altruism,  which  is  found  in  some  asexual  forms 
and  perhaps  in  Protozoa,  but  when  it  is  found  it  is  always  conscious. 
All  sexual  selection  (gyneclexis)  is  based  on  it,  and  we  saw  how 
early  this  began  to  transform  the  male  element,  to  mold  it  into  forms 
and  to  adorn  it  with  hues  that  charmed  the  female.  We  traced 
these  transformations  up  through  the  successively  higher  types  till 
they  culminated  in  such  glorious  objects  as  the  male  bird  of  para- 


432  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

dise,  the  lyre  bird,  the  peacock's  tail,  and  the  pheasant's  plumes. 
It  cropped  out  in  the  insect  world  in  quite  another  way,  more 
directly  connected  with  the  ontogenetic  forces,  led  to  the  cross 
fertilization  of  flowers,  and  gave  to  the  world  its  floral  beauties. 
Similarly  it  has  been  well-nigh  demonstrated  that  many  of  the  large 
and  luscious  showy  fruits  have  resulted  from  the  advantage  that 
their  attractiveness  to  birds  gave  them  in  securing  the  wider 
distribution  of  such  forms  and  their  consequent  survival  in  the 
struggle  for  existence.  Thus  long  anterior  to  the  advent  of  man 
the  esthetic  faculty,  as  a  necessary  concomitant  of  nerve  (we  can 
scarcely  say  brain)  development,  was  embellishing  the  earth  with 
products  that  the  highest  human  tastes  unanimously  agree  to  call 
beautiful. 

But  the  esthetic  faculty  has  passed  through  three  stages,  each 
a  step  higher  than  the  preceding.  These  may  be  called  respectively 
the  receptive,  the  imaginative,  and  the  creative.  The  first  of  these 
is  passive  while  the  other  two  are  active  in  different  ways.  Between 
the  passive  stage  and  the  imaginative  stage  there  intervenes  another 
psychic  faculty  which  is  not  generally  connected  with  the  esthetic, 
but  which  can  be  shown  to  be  the  natural  and  necessary  prelude  and 
condition  to  imagination.  This  latter  is  a  comparatively  high  stage 
in  esthetic  development  and  does  not  probably  appear  as  an  animal 
attribute  at  all,  but  only  as  an  exclusively  human  attribute.  The 
animal  faculty  corresponding  to  it  and  directly  leading  into  it  is 
imitation.  Imitation  is  itself  a  very  high  animal  attribute.  It 
probably  has  its  germs  in  some  of  the  lower  vertebrates,  possibly  in 
insects,  but  makes  its  first  marked  appearance  in  birds,  notably  in 
parrots,  mocking  birds,  and  birds  related  to  these.  It  is  faint  or 
wanting  in  many  mammals,  but  comes  forth  in  its  fullest  develop- 
ments in  the  apes.  So  marked  is  this  quality  in  this  family  that 
the  name  of  the  ape  in  many  languages  is  the  same  as  that  of 
a  mimic.1  Even  in  the  developed  languages  in  which  the  name  has 
a  different  derivation,  as  the  German  and  Anglo-Saxon,  the  same 
word  is  used  as  a  verb,  meaning  to  imitate  or  mimic,  e.g.,  to  ape 
another.  The  French  also  have  a  verb  singer  in  that  sense,  although 
singe  is  derived  from  simia.  All  this  only  shows  that  everywhere 

1  Lat.,  simia,  from  similis,  simulo ;  Gr.  irlOrjKos,  from  treiOw,  which  sometimes  has 
this  meaning  ;  also  most  languages  of  native  races  where  apes  or  monkeys  are  indig- 


CH.  xv]  THE  ESTHETIC   FORCES  433 

the  most  prominent  psychic  attribute  of  the  ape  is  admitted  to  be 
the  power  of  mimicry  or  imitation. 

But  the  bird,  the  ape,  the  animal,  gets  no  farther  than  this.  If 
any  animal  has  the  rudiments  of  imagination  it  does  not  and  cannot 
express  them  so  that  man  can  recognize  that  faculty.  In  fact,  imagi- 
nation is  another  mode  of  representation  and  stands  in  the  same 
relation  to  objects  that  sympathy  does  to  feelings.  If  we  call 
sympathy  subjective  representation,  as  was  done  in  the  last  section, 
we  may  call  imagination  objective  representation.  The  one  is  the 
foundation  of  ethics,  the  other  of  esthetics.  The  ape  imitates  that 
which  it  sees.  It  never  puts  two  things  together  to  form  a  third 
thing  which  has  no  objective  existence.  This  would  be  imagination. 
Imagination  is  essentially  creative,  and  by  calling  the  third  stage 
creative  it  was  not  intended  to  deny  this.  Imagination  can  only 
work  with  the  materials  in  consciousness,  but  it  can  dispose  these  at 
will  and  is  not  restricted  to  dealing  with  them  in  the  form  in  which 
it  finds  them.  It  makes  ideals  out  of  these  reals  by  a  grouping  of 
its  own.  It  thus  creates.  But  these  creations  are  not  real.  They 
are  not  presented  by  the  senses.  They  are  reflexes.  They  may  be 
called  ejects,  i.e.,  objective  ejects.  Not  being  real,  their  cognition 
belongs  to  the  faint  series,  the  same  as  represented  pains  and 
pleasures. 

The  creative  stage  in  the  development  of  the  esthetic  faculty  is 
that  in  which  ideals  are  embodied  in  visible  form  so  as  to  be  cogniza- 
ble by  others  besides  the  one  who  imagines  them.  It  is  art.  This 
is  a  much  later  stage,  but  until  it  is  reached  the  esthetic  faculty  as  a 
transforming  agent  is  chiefly  a  biotic  force  and  works  through  selec- 
tion and  heredity.  Now  it  becomes  a  social  force  and  begins  to 
exert  its  influence  upon  social  structures.  Ideals  are  realized  and 
become  esthetic  creations.  Such  creations  are  among  the  most  im- 
portant of  human  achievements.  Of  the  nature  of  esthetic  creation 
enough  was  said  in  Chapter  V,  where  it  was  used  as  an  illustration 
or  aid  in  studying  the  much  less  familiar  phenomenon,  genetic 
creation.  This  ground  need  not  be  gone  over  again. 

We  have  seen  that  imitation  preceded  imagination,  and  imagina- 
tion preceded  creation.  Now  the  earliest  art  was  the  most  creative 
and  the  least  imitative,  and  progress  in  art  has,  in  a  certain  sense, 
been  in  the  direction  of  a  return  to  imitation.  In  the  beginning  the 
artificial  creations  of  man  differed  in  toto  from  anything  real.  There 


434  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

was  only  the  rudest  attempt  to  imitate  nature.  Egyptian  and 
Assyrian  art  and  the  old  Chinese  and  Japanese  art  are  all  conven- 
tionalized, and  do  not  closely  resemble  the  objects  they  are  intended 
to  represent.  They  only  symbolize  them.  Why  this  is  may  be 
difficult  to  explain.  I  venture  the  following  tentative  explanation : 
The  earliest  artists  possessed  very  limited  powers  of  delineation, 
perhaps  in  part  due  to  defective  powers  of  representation  and  imagi- 
nation, and  certainly  in  part  to  defective  skill.  Still  they  were  the 
only  artists  and  their  rude  representations  were  far  above  the  minds 
of  their  contemporaries.  They  were  regarded  as  next  to  perfect 
and  were  employed  in  connection  with  religious  ceremonies  and 
rites.  These  objects  of  art  thus  became  sacred,  and  from  this  time 
no  one  dared  vary  them.  They  might  be  copied,  but  they  could  not 
be  altered  or  improved.  If  this  be  taken  as  the  basis  of  the  whole, 
and  all  possible  minor  modifications  due  to  varying  conditions  be 
allowed  for,  we  have  a  rational  explanation  of  the  general  and  al- 
most universal  fact  called  the  conservatism  of  art. 

There  must,  however,  necessarily  be  a  limit  to  this  slavish  imita- 
tion of  the  artificial,  and  this  was  accompanied  by  a  corresponding 
tendency  toward  the  imitation  of  the  natural,  until  at  last  in  Grecian 
art  we  have  works  of  art  that  are,  although  still  ideals,  nevertheless 
"  true  to  nature,"  in  the  sense  that  every  part  brought  together  to 
form  a  whole  has  its  counterpart  in  nature,  was,  indeed,  in  most 
cases,  copied  from  nature.  The  whole,  however,  was  unlike  any 
whole  in  nature,  and  consisted  of  the  best  parts  of  many  wholes  com- 
bined to  form  an  ideal  whole. 

But  there  was  still  another  step,  or  series  of  steps,  chiefly  in  the 
same  direction.  The  sense  of  the  beautiful  seems  at  first  to  have 
been  limited  to  what  may  in  general  be  called  symmetrical  forms. 
The  more  geometrically  perfect  they  were  the  more  they  attracted 
the  primitive  esthetic  sense.  Hence  we  find  that  savages  are  most 
attracted  by  artificial  objects,  such  as  beads,  buttons,  canes,  umbrel- 
las, and  other  mechanically  wrought  products.  The  natural  objects 
first  to  appeal  to  man's  esthetic  faculties  were  the  sun  and  moon, 
which  present  a  shining  circular  disk,  the  rainbow,  etc.  A  very  dis- 
tant and  symmetrical  mountain  might  also  appeal  to  them.  Next  to 
these  objects  came  animals  and  trees,  also  flowers,  and  finally  the 
human  body,  especially  the  female  form,  smoothed  off  and  perfected 
by  the  prolonged  operation  of  andreclexis,  came  to  be  counted 


CH.  xv]  THE   ESTHETIC   FORCES  435 

beautiful.  Art  had  scarcely  gone  farther  than  this  with  the  ancient 
Greeks,  and  little  advance  was  made  down  to  the  renaissance. 
Landscape  painting  was  scarcely  known,  and  there  is  no  evidence 
that  nature  at  large  was  even  admired  by  man.  The  present  love  of 
"scenery"  is  very  modern  and  it  is  not  probable  that  even  the 
Greeks  could  have  appreciated  Switzerland.  As  Humboldt  says, 
and  as  I  have  fully  shown  in  a  previous  chapter,  early  man  did  not 
love,  he  only  feared  nature  (supra,  p.  109). 

Now  the  modern  idea  of  the  beautiful,  as  most  fully  expressed  in 
the  heterogeneous  reduced  to  order  by  perspective  and  rational 
synthesis,  was  an  added  faculty,  not  possessed  by  early  man  nor  by 
existing  savages,  and  the  development  of  this  faculty  produced  a 
complete  revolution  in  art,  immensely  increasing  its  power  to  pro- 
duce human  enjoyment  and  stimulate  activity.  It  also  tended  toward 
the  imitation  of  nature,  somewhat  at  the  expense  of  the  creative 
faculty,  although  this  latter  still  has  a  wide  field  for  its  exercise. 
But  nature  in  the  large  —  scenery,  landscape,  wood,  meadow,  stream, 
hill,  mountain,  lake,  sky,  cloud,  and  sea  —  is  so  intrinsically  beauti- 
ful that  it  is  the  highest  aim  of  the  artist  to  represent  it  exactly  as 
it  presents  itself.  So  true  is  this  that  even  photographic  views, 
which,  notwithstanding  what  they  lack  in  color  effects,  are  exact 
reproductions  of  all  that  the  sensitized  film  is  capable  of  recording, 
are  considered  beautiful,  and  these  are  so  easily  reproduced  as  to  be 
within  the  reach  of  most  of  those  whose  tastes  are  sufficiently  de- 
veloped to  appreciate  them. 

It  has  been  said  that  art  is  non-progressive,  that  it  serves  no  use- 
ful purpose  in  the  world,  that  it  does  not  raise  the  moral  tone  of 
society,  that  it  adds  no  new  truth  to  man's  stock  of  knowledge,  that  it 
makes  man  no  more  comfortable,  no  better,  and  no  wiser.  This  might 
almost  be  true  without  constituting  an  argument  against  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  esthetic  faculty.  Love  of  the  beautiful  and  its  pursuit 
do  not  claim  to  constitute  either  an  ontogenetic  or  a  phylogenetic 
force  in  society.  They  constitute  a  typical  sociogenetic  force.  Art 
is  a  socializing  agency.  It  is  an  agency  of  civilization  as  distin- 
guished from  preservation  and  perpetuation.  It  is  not  a  necessity. 
Shall  we  call  it  a  luxury  ?  It  is  much  more.  In  a  pain  economy  it 
may  be  a  luxury,  but  above  that  it  becomes  a  utility.  It  finally 
becomes  a  spiritual  necessity.  As  soon  as  the  class  of  wants  which 
may  be  distinguished  as  needs  are  satisfied  this  spiritual  want, 


436  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

which,  as  we  have  seen,  is  planted  deep  in  the  animal  nature,  at 
once  asserts  itself,  and  the  satisfaction  of  a  spiritual  want  is  as 
important  as  that  of  a  material  want.  It  serves  to  swell  the  volume 
of  life.  Men  have  esthetic  interests  as  well  as  economic  interests, 
and  their  claims  are  as  legitimate. 

In  a  word,  the  esthetic  sentiment  is  an  end  in  itself.  Its  satisfac- 
tion becomes  one  of  the  ends  of  the  feeling  being.  The  very  word 
esthetic  means  feeling.  The  enjoyment  of  life  consists  in  satisfying 
feelings.  So  long  as  feelings  can  be  satisfied  the  more  and  the 
stronger  they  are  the  greater  the  volume  of  enjoyment.  So  long  as 
desires  are  innocent,  i.e.,  do  no  injury  to  the  individual  or  to  others, 
it  is  a  gain  even  to  create  them.  The  peculiarity  of  art  is  that  it 
creates  desire  in  order  to  satisfy  it.  This  is  as  true  of  other  arts  as  it 
is  of  music,  but  it  is  so  obviously  true  of  music  that"  Schopenhauer 
made  that  an  art  entirely  distinct  from  all  the  rest,  the  purpose  of 
which,  he  claimed,  is  to  typify  and  represent  all  the  passions  of  the 
soul.  It  represents  the  will,  which  is  ever  striving,  and  when  its 
end  is  attained,  striving  anew,  and  so  on  forever.  So  a  melody  is 
a  constant  wandering  and  deviation  from  the  keynote,  sometimes 
above,  sometimes  below,  up  and  down,  over  all  the  tones,  thirds, 
fifths,  and  octaves,  and  occasionally  back  to  whence  it  started,  and 
where  it  ultimately  must  end,  otherwise  the  ear  is  wholly  unsatisfied.1 
In  all  this  there  is  a  perpetual  creation  followed  by  satisfaction  of 
desire,  and  in  this  consists  all  the  beauty  and  all  the  charm  of 
music. 

There  is  much  truth  in  this,  and  Schopenhauer's  only  mistake 
was  in  imagining  that  in  this  music  differed  from  all  other  arts.  It 
is  the  same  in  all,  and  the  only  difference  consists  in  the  ease  with 
which  it  can  be  observed  in  music.  In  arts  that  appeal  to  the  eye 
instead  of  the  ear  the  process  is  practically  instantaneous,  as  much 
mor'e  rapid  and  unseizable  as  the  velocity  of  light  is  greater  than 
that  of  sound.  Yet  music  in  the  proper  sense,  melody  and  harmony, 
is  another  very  modern  art.  Of  course  it  began  away  back,  along 
with  poetry,  in  the  primitive  terpsichorean  ceremony,  as  action  and 
rhythmic  noise,  still,  what  we  understand  by  music  scarcely  existed 
in  antiquity  and  scarcely  exists  in  any  but  the  modern  historical 
races.  When  we  reflect  how  much  richer  human  life  is  for  this  one 
art,  we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  sociogenetic  value  of  art  as  a 
i "  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstellung,"  3e  e'd.,  Leipzig,  1859,  Vol.  I,  p.  307. 


CH.  xv]  THE  INTELLECTUAL  FORCES  437 

whole.  With  the  extraordinary  development  of  music  during  the 
nineteenth  century  through  the  three  stages,  monophony  (Bach), 
symphony  (Beethoven),  and  polyphony  (Wagner),  and  at  the  hands 
of  such  an  array  of  composers,  with  the  perfection  of  musical  instru- 
ments and  skill  in  performing  upon  them,  it  almost  seems  as  if  the 
world  was  living  and  feasting  on  the  musical  art. 

But  a  glance  through  the  great  galleries  of  the  world  is  calculated 
to  impress  one  even  more  deeply  with  the  quantity  of  achievement 
in  those  far  older  arts,  notably  sculpture,  while  for  architecture  one 
needs  only  to  remain  outside  and  admire  the  monumental  piles  that 
adorn  all  the  great  capitals  of  the  world  and  are  copied  again  and 
again  even  in  the  New  World?  and  in  Australia.  The  older  buildings 
may  sometime  crumble  and  decay,  but  the  different  styles  of  archi- 
tecture are  imperishable  and  constitute  the  real  achievements. 

Literature  is  properly  to  be  regarded  as  an  art.  It  was  action 
before  it  was  words,  poetry  before  it  was  prose,  rhythm  before  it 
was  rhyme,  and  esthetic  before  it  was  practical.  In  fact  it  is  only 
during  the  nineteenth  century  that  its  function  as  an  esthetic  end 
was  to  any  considerable  extent  subordinated  to  its  function  as  a 
means  of  conveying  thought. 

There  is  a  reciprocal  tendency  for  the  esthetic  and  the  practical  to 
shade  off  into  each  other.  We  saw  how  both  the  ontogenetic  and 
the  phylogenetic  activities  tended  to  become  more  and  more  esthetic, 
and  now  we  see  how  the  sociogenetic  activities  tend  to  become  es- 
thetic. In  the  great  future  the  distinctions  will  be  for  the  most 
part  removed. 

THE  INTELLECTUAL  FORCES 

In  studying  the  moral  and  esthetic  forces  we  have  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  points  of  contact  with  the  phylogenetic  and  even 
with  the  ontogenetic  forces.  But  although  these  sociogenetic  forces 
have  been  the  result  of  brain  development,  still  it  is  difficult  to  con- 
nect the  intellectual  forces  as  such  with  any  of  these  earlier  and 
more  physical  attributes.  If  it  be  true,  as  Professor  Edinger  points 
out,1  that  the  brain  cortex  was  primarily  a  center  of  taste,  this  may 
serve  in  a  way  to  connect  the  appetite  for  food  with  the  appetite  for 
knowledge,  but  the  analogy  would  have  no  real  significance.  That 

111  Die  Entwickelung  der  Gehirnbahnen  in  der  Thierreihe,"  von  L.  Edinger, 
Allgemeine  Medicinische  Central  Zeitung,  LXV.  Jahrg.,  Berlin,  1896,  No.  79,  pp. 
949-951  ;  No.  80,  pp.  961-964. 


438  PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

the  brain  is  an  appetitive  center,  however,  admits  of  no  question, 
and  there  certainly  is  a  resemblance  between  brain  craving  and 
other  bodily  cravings.  It  is  only  with  this  appetite  as  a  true  force 
that  we  here  have  to  do,  and  not  with  the  nature  of  mind  in  general. 

Throughout  the  long  series  of  psychic  phenomena  that  are  pro- 
duced by  the  dynamic  agent  we  have  thus  far  been  dealing  only 
with  those  psychic  faculties  which  may  be  classed  under  the  head 
of  emotions  or  affections,  although  in  the  esthetic  faculty  we  saw 
that  imagination  partakes  decidedly  of  the  nature  of  an  intellectual 
faculty,  and  also  that  sympathy  was  only  possible  through  the  exer- 
cise of  true  reason.  Still  sympathy  itself  is  wholly  feeling,  and  the 
love  of  the  beautiful  is  also  a  feeling.  We  now  rise  a  step  higher 
toward  a  true  intellectual  operation  and  have  to  deal  with  an  affec- 
tion that  resides  in  the  organ  of  thought  itself.  But  just  as  sym- 
pathy and  esthetic  taste  must  be  distinguished  from  the  rational 
processes  by  which  they  are  alone  made  possible,  so  the  intellectual 
affection,  emotion,  or  appetite  must  be  distinguished  from  thought 
itself.  The  truth  is  that  the  mind,  or,  if  any  one  prefers,  the  brain, 
has  an  interest  in  its  own  operations,  and  the  exercise  of  the  intel- 
lectual faculty  is  attended  with  a  satisfaction  or  pleasure,  as  definite 
and  real  as  the  satisfaction  or  pleasure  attending  the  exercise  of  any 
other  faculty.  We  are  therefore  still  dealing  with  feeling,  and  there 
is  no  generic  distinction  between  intellectual  feeling  and  other  forms 
of  feeling.  The  mind  enjoys  the  work  it  does,  and  often  undertakes 
work  that  it  can  only  do  imperfectly,  merely  because  it  is  "  hard," 
and  requires  greater  effort,  being  impelled  by  the  satisfaction 
yielded  by  this  effort.  This  accounts  for  the  familiar  fact  that 
persons  having  great  talents  in  a  given  direction  often  prefer  to  do 
something  for  which  they  have  only  medium  or  even  inferior 
talents.  Work  in  the  field  for  which  nature  has  specially  en- 
dowed them  is  too  easy  to  be  enjoyable.  The  result  is  that  they 
accomplish  far  less  than  if  they  had  only  labored  in  their  natural 
field. 

The  mind  has  an  interest  chiefly  in  three  things :  1,  to  acquire 
knowledge;  2,  to  discover  truth;  3,  to  impart  information.  The 
interest  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  perhaps  the  most  intense, 
and  partakes  more  exactly  of  the  nature  of  a  true  appetite  than 
either  of  the  others.  It  is  most  prominent  in  the  young,  but  may 
continue  through  life.  Many  young  persons  at  a  certain  stage  in 


on.  xv]  THE  INTELLECTUAL  FORCES  439 

their  mental  and  physical  development,  usually  for  some  years  after 
the  age  of  puberty,  become  literally  hungry  for  knowledge,  and 
devour  everything  that  comes  in  their  way.  At  first  they  are 
almost  omnivorous,  and  are  bent  on  storing  their  minds  with  every- 
thing that  they  did  not  know  before.  They  will  learn  anything, 
and  have  small  powers  of  discrimination.  This  fact  is  the  strongest 
reason  for  placing  such  persons  where  everything  they  learn  will 
form  a  useful  contribution  to  their  stock  of  knowledge,  and  not  be 
mere  trash  and  dross  that  can  never  be  of  any  future  service  to 
them.  Later  on  they  begin  to  discriminate  for  themselves,  and 
many  almost  self-educated  men  have  succeeded  in  organizing  their 
knowledge  to  good  advantage.  But  this  is  exceptional,  and  sys- 
tematic guidance  is  almost  essential  to  any  real  success. 

After  the  mind  has  become  thus  stored  with  knowledge  the  time 
at  length  arrives  when  it  begins  to  work  upon  its  own  materials. 
The  psychologists  tell  us  how  this  is  done.1  This  is  a  strictly  crea- 
tive process.  By  ransacking,  as  it  were,  every  corner  of  the  brain 
certain  likenesses  are  discovered  between  images  impressed  upon 
different  areas,  or  cells,  or  what  not,  and  these  are  confronted  and 
scrutinized,  and  their  relations  discovered.  Something  new  results, 
something  different  from  any  of  the  separate  items  of  intelligence 
that  had  been  acquired  during  the  receptive  period.  It  may  have 
no  resemblance  to  any  of  them,  yet  it  results  from  them.  It  is  a 
relation  subsisting  between  two  or  more  of  them,  but  it  is  real  and 
definite,  and  constitutes  a  tertium  quid,  created  by  the  brain's  own 
activities.  The  mind  knows  it,  so  that  it  is  an  additional  item  of 
knowledge,  but  it  did  not  come  directly  from  the  external  senses ; 
only  its  elements  thus  came. 

There  are  only  two  fundamental  relations,  those  of  agreement  and 
disagreement.  All  other  relations  are  derivatives  of  these.  The 
variety  is  chiefly  the  result  of  degrees  in  agreement,  which  again 
must  mean  agreement  in  some  of  the  parts  of  a  complex  whole  and 
not  in  others.  This  is  the  distinction  between  similarity  and  iden- 
tity, and  similarity  may  be  defined  as  identity  of  parts.  So  the  mind 
searches  out  these  identities  of  parts  of  its  stored  impressions  and 
predicates  them,  forming  a  whole  new  and  added  stock  of  a  different 
kind  or  class  of  knowledge.  If  the  original  knowledge  acquired 
directly  through  the  senses,  including  that  kind  of  indirect  acquisi- 
1  "  The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  by  William  James,  Vol.  I,  pp.  284  ff- 


440  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

tion  that  comes  from  reading  and  listening  to  others,  be  called  fact, 
the  new  kind  of  knowledge  created  out  of  this  by  the  mind  itself  in 
the  manner  described,  may  be  called  truth. 

This  creative  process  of  the  mind  is  attended,  like  the  receptive 
process,  with  a  strong  interest  and  an  intense  satisfaction,  and  con- 
stitutes the  second  step  in  the  act  of  generating  intellectual  energy. 
It  bears  less  resemblance  to  a  true  appetite  than  does  the  first  pro- 
cess, but  the  interest,  zeal,  and  enjoyment  are  scarcely  less.  Indeed, 
there  is  a  certain  depth  and  volume  to  the  satisfaction  attending  the 
discovery  of  truth  that  has  no  parallel  in  the  mere  acquisition  of 
knowledge.  Knowledge  that  is  acquired  is  simply  taken  from  the 
common  stock  and  appropriated  by  the  individual.  It  was  already 
possessed  by  others,  perhaps  by  thousands  or  millions  of  men.  But 
a  truth  excogitated  out  of  the  knowledge  thus  acquired  may  not  be 
known  to  any  one  else.  In  the  majority  of  cases,  of  course,  the  same 
truth  has  been  evolved  by  other  minds  from  similar  materials,  but  the 
discoverer  does  not  usually  know  this,  and  at  least  imagines  that 
he  is  creating  something  wholly  new.  This  interest  in  the  priority 
of  discovery  is  exceedingly  strong  and  fascinating  and  becomes  the 
chief  spur  to  original  thought. 

But  facts  are  not  the  only  materials  received  by  the  mind  from 
without.  In  advanced  stages  of  civilization  there  are  innumerable 
books,  the  purpose  of  writing  which  has  been  to  express  the  author's 
thoughts.  Thoughts  thus  expressed  are  acquired  by  reading  as  well 
as  statements  of  fact.  Many  such  thoughts  are  so  simple  that  their 
mere  statement  shows  that  they  are  true,  although  the  reader  may 
never  have  evolved  the  same  truth  from  the  materials  in  his  own 
mind.  The  more  obscure  or  profound  truths  expressed  in  books  re- 
quire to  be  thought  out  independently  by  the  reader.  If  the  mate- 
rials out  of  which  they  are  constructed  are  not  in  his  consciousness 
he  is  incapable  of  actually  perceiving  such  truths.  They  are  to  him 
only  forms  of  words  and  not  ideas.  This  is  why  the  world  demands 
abundant  evidence  of  every  statement  that  is  not  of  itself  apparent, 
i.e.,  self-evident.  No  great  theory  can  gain  many  adherents  that  is 
not  supported  by  a  vast  array  of  facts.  Each  separate  mind  must 
be  put  in  possession  of  sufficient  data  to  work  out  the  conclusion  for 
itself.  When  a  theory  or  hypothesis,  such  as  that  of  natural  selec- 
tion, is  thus  supported  it  needs  no  advocates,  because  the  facts  com- 
bine to  establish  it  in  any  mind  that  contains  them. 


CH.  xv]  THE   INTELLECTUAL   FORCES  441 

The  mind  of  a  well-informed  person  contains  a  large  store  of  facts 
and  an  equally  large  store  of  truths,  i.e.,  logical  conclusions  from 
facts.  It  uses  the  facts  to  increase  the  number  of  truths  derived 
from  both  within  and  without.  But  it  does  not  stop  here.  The 
combining  of  truths  to  form  new  truths  is  as  legitimate  a  process  of 
the  mind  as  the  combining  of  facts  to  form  truths.  Truths  derived 
from  the  combination  of  other  truths  become  truths  of  a  higher 
order.  The  fundamental  method  of  creative  nature,  as  explained  in 
Chapter  V,  applies  to  the  operations  of  mind  as  well  as  to  those  of 
matter.  This,  as  we  saw,  is  the  method  of  creating  units  of  higher 
out  of  those  of  lower  order  and  then  using  the  latter  as  new  units  for 
still  higher  creations.  This  process  of  recompounding,  or  compound 
aggregation,  which  underlies  all  creative  synthesis,  when  it  reaches 
the  intellectual  plane  is  called  generalization.  This  may  be  carried 
as  far  as  the  quality  of  the  mind  will  permit,  and  the  power  of  gen- 
eralization (not  of  abstract  reasoning,  as  is  so  often  said)  constitutes 
the  best  measure  of  intellectual  power. 

Generalization  is  inspiration.  A  new  truth  evolved  from  the 
stored  facts  and  truths  of  the  mind,  often  appears  to  come  suddenly 
to  view.  Some  of  the  greatest  generalizations  have  seemed  to  burst 
upon  the  minds  of  their  discoverers  at  a  definite  moment.  They  are 
often  only  subconscious,  and  consciousness  seems  to  be  occupied  with 
other  things  at  the  time,  so  that  the  discoverers  can  relate  the  precise 
external  circumstances,  wholly  disconnected  from  the  discovery, 
under  which  the  truth  first  dawned.  On  Oct.  15,  1858,  Sir  William 
Rowan  Hamilton  wrote :  — 

To-morrow  will  be  the  fifteenth  birthday  of  the  Quaternions.  They 
started  into  life,  or  light,  full-grown,  on  the  16th  of  October,  1843,  as  I  was 
walking  with  Lady  Hamilton  to  Dublin,  and  came  up  to  Brougham  Bridge, 
which  my  boys  have  since  called  Quaternion  Bridge.  That  is  to  say,  I  then 
and  there  felt  the  galvanic  circuit  of  thought  close ;  and  the  sparks  which 
fell  from  it  were  the  fundamental  equations  between  z,  j,  k ;  exactly  such  as  I 
have  used  them  ever  since.  I  pulled  out,  on  the  spot,  a  pocketbook  which  still 
exists,  and  made  an  entry,  on  which,  at  the  very  moment,  I  felt  that  it  might 
be  worth  my  while  to  expend  the  labor  of  at  least  ten  (or  it  might  be  fifteen) 
years  to  come.  But  then,  it  is  fair  to  say  that  this  was  because  I  felt  a 
problem  to  have  been  at  that  moment  solved,  —  an  intellectual  want  relieved 
—  which  had  haunted  me  for  at  least  fifteen  years  before.1 

1  North  British  Review,  Vol.  XLV  (N.S.,  Vol.  VI),  September-December,  1866, 
p.  57.  Extract  from  a  letter  dated  Oct.  15, 1858,  giving  an  account  of  the  discovery ; 
in  an  article  on  Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton. 


442  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  H 

Emerson  says  :  "  Generalization  is  always  a  new  influx  of  divinity 
into  the  mind.  Hence  the  thrill  that  attends  it ; "  and  Professor 
James  remarks :  "  This  victorious  assimilation  of  the  new  is  in 
fact  the  type  of  all  intellectual  pleasure." 1  Galton  says  that  men 
who  have  gained  great  reputations  are  men  whom  their  "  biographies 
show  to  be  haunted  and  driven  by  an  incessant  instinctive  craving 
for  intellectual  work."  2  Nor  is  this  a  very  modern  passion,  for  both 
Plato 3  and  Aristotle 4  considered  the  pleasures  of  the  intellect,  in  its 
philosophical  exercise,  the  highest  of  all  enjoyments  ;  and  Professor 
Le  Conte,  speaking  of  the  idea  of  Plato,  says  :  "  All  who  have  ever 
experienced  the  supreme  joy  of  the  discovery  of  new  truth  —  I  do 
not  mean  a  new  fact,  but  a  new  idea  or  a  new  law  —  know  that  it 
comes  suddenly  like  a  birth,  like  a  revelation ;  like  a  reminiscence."  * 

Galton  also  says  that  "  sudden  inspirations  and  those  flashings 
out  of  results  which  cost  a  great  deal  of  conscious  effort  to  ordinary 
people,  but  are  the  natural  outcome  of  what  is  known  as  genius,  are 
undoubted  products  of  unconscious  cerebration."6  I  can  readily 
believe  this  from  facts  in  my  own  experience,  for  although  I  have 
never  made  any  great  discovery,  I  have  often  been  long  haunted  by 
a  nascent  idea  which  I  could  not  formulate  or  clearly  grasp,  until  at 
last  it  has  opened  out  full  on  my  consciousness  at  a  time  when  I  was 
making  no  effort  to  seize  it.  Once  clearly  presented,  it  grows  in 
clearness  and  especially  in  importance,  until  I  find  myself  compelled, 
to  drop  other  things  and  proceed  to  give  it  a  definite  form.  Not  to 
mention  many  other  cases,  I  remember  that  this  was  the  history  of 
the  idea  embodied  in  my  essay  on  "  The  Essential  Nature  of  Reli- 
gion," as  late  as  1897,  the  circumstances  attending  which,  though  not 
interesting,  are  as  vivid  in  my  memory  as  were  those  attending  the 
discovery  of  quaternions.  It  has  also  been  my  almost  daily  experi- 
ence for  the  greater  part  of  my  mature  life  to  have  thoughts  flit  into 
my  mind  and  out  again  to  disappear  perhaps  forever,  unless  I  seize 
them  at  once  and  fix  them  by  some  process  so  that  I  can  call  them 
up  at  will.  The  approved  method,  of  course,  is  to  jot  them  down 

1  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  by  "William  James,  New  York,  1890,  Vol.  II,  p.  110. 

2  "Hereditary  Genius,"  London,  1892,  p.  36. 
»  "Republic,"  Book  IX. 

4  "  Nicomachean  Ethics,"  Book  X,  Chapter  VII. 

5  "  Plato's  Doctrine  of  the  Soul,  an  Argument  for  Immortality,  in  Comparison  with 
the  Doctrine  and  Argument  derived  from  the  Study  of  Nature,"  by  Joseph  Le  Conte. 
University  of  California.    Philosophical  Union,  Bulletin  No.  8,  p.  4. 

6  Nineteenth  Century,  Vol.  V,  March,  1879,  p.  433. 


CH.  xv]  THE   INTELLECTUAL   FORCES  443 

then  and  there,  but  they  have  a  provoking  way  of  coming  at  times 
and  under  circumstances  when  this  is  next  to  impossible ;  as  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  or  when  I  am  with  other  persons  to  whom  I 
should  have  to  explain  an  apparent  mental  aberration,  or  when  out 
in  a  storm  where  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  a  memorandum.  I 
have  even  had  such  thoughts  when  climbing  a  crag,  and  holding  on 
with  difficulty  by  the  aid  of  both  hands.  Despite  all  the  excitement 
and  perhaps  geological  interest  of  such  an  experience,  ideas  totally 
foreign  to  it  all  will  thus  intrude.  The  most  effective  way  I  have 
found  to  save  such  evanescent  thought  waves  is  to  select  some  one 
key  word  that  if  recalled  will  bring  back  the  whole  train  of  thought, 
and  concentrate  my  effort  on  fixing  that  word  in  my  mind  until  I 
get  where  I  can  make  the  necessary  record.  I  find  that  I  am  not 
the  only  one  who  is  troubled  by  fleeting  ideas,  for  Dr.  Carpenter 
mentions  the  same  fact  when  he  says :  — 

It  is  within  the  experience  of  most  persons  of  active  minds,  that  they  can 
distinctly  remember  being  struck  by  some  particular  "  happy  thought,"  which 
has  afterwards  entirely  escaped  them  through  not  having  been  noted  down 
at  the  time ;  it  is  a  prudent  system,  therefore,  to  have  a  memorandum-book 
always  at  hand,  for  the  registration  of  all  noteworthy  ideas.1 

These  transient  thoughts,  however,  have  another  singular  quality, 
that  besides  being  almost  instantaneous,  they  do  not  impress  the 
mind  with  their  importance,  or  rather,  they  seem  so  natural  and 
simple  that  one  is  inclined  to  think  it  almost  a  matter  of  course  that 
they  can  be  recalled  and  used  at  will.  This  quality  is  highly  seduc- 
tive and  tempts  one  to  neglect  them,  so  that  only  after  repeated 
experiences  of  the  fact  that  when  gone  they  are  gone  forever,  does 
one  realize  the  necessity  of  seizing  them  before  they  take  their 
flight. 

Such  is  the  constructive  quality  of  the  intellect,  the  most  impor- 
tant of  all  the  faculties,  and  probably,  when  comprehended  in  all  its 
length  and  breadth,  the  one  that  has  achieved  the  most,  and  contrib- 
uted the  largest  additions  to  the  general  fact  which  is  commonly 
understood  as  civilization. 

We  have  now  dealt  with  the  receptive  or  acquisitive  interest  or 
appetite  of  the  mind,  and  with  its  creative  or  constructive  interest. 
It  remains  to  consider  what  may  be  called  its  transitive  or  reproduc- 

1  "  Principles  of  Mental  Physiology,"  etc.,  by  William  B.  Carpenter,  New  York, 
1875,  p.  536. 


444  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  ir 

tive  aspect,  viz.,  the  interest  it  has  in  conveying  its  acquisitions  and 
constructions  to  other  minds.  It  might  be  supposed  that  this  would 
be  very  slight,  but  such  is  not  the  case.  The  developed  human  in- 
tellect is  essentially  altruistic.  It  delights  in  sharing  its  possessions 
with  others.  This  is  largely  the  case  with  simple  knowledge,  but  it 
is  still  more  true  of  ideas,  I  do  not  say  truth,  but  what  it  considers 
to  be  truth.  I  shall  not  deal  here  with  beliefs,  though  it  might  per- 
haps be  shown  that  between  ideas,  i.e.,  conceptions  regarded  as  true, 
and  beliefs  there  are  all  shades  of  resemblance.  If  beliefs  were 
included  it  would  be  clear  that  the  mind  has  an  intense  interest  in 
their  propagation.  But  beliefs  are  associated  with  so  many  other 
interests  of  an  entirely  different  character  that  it  would  be  next  to 
impossible  to  keep  these  latter  out  of  the  way  and  deal  with  the 
beliefs  as  simply  intellectual  interests. 

It  is  otherwise  with  simple  ideas,  whether  these  have  been  re- 
ceived from  without  and  made  to  square  with  the  data  of  conscious- 
ness, or  created  by  the  mind  itself  out  of  its  own  stock  of  materials. 
The  intellect  is  intensely  interested  in  both  these  classes  of  ideas, 
especially  in  the  latter,  and  is  rarely  content  to  keep  them  wholly  to 
itself.  If  we  take  the  case  of  a  really  well-stored  and  active  mind 
we  find  that  it  has  been  satisfied  for  a  certain  time  simply  to  acquire, 
to  accumulate  and  store  up  facts  and  to  receive,  compare,  verify,  and 
accept  ideas  based  on  facts  that  others  (parents,  teachers,  associates, 
also  books)  may  communicate  to  it.  At  the  end  of  a  certain  period, 
usually  continuing  some  time  after  puberty,  sometimes  till  the  age 
of  twenty  or  later,  during  which  the  mind  becomes  stored  with  a 
large  amount  of  information,  a  desire  gradually  springs  up  to  com- 
municate a  portion  of  this  information  to  others  who,  from  their 
youth  or  from  defective  opportunities,  are  clearly  seen  to  be  wanting 
in  most  of  it.  This  desire  takes  various  forms.  All  that  can  be 
done  by  converse  with  others  is  accomplished  in  this  way.  System- 
atic instruction  is  often  volunteered  and  gratuitously  offered.  The 
teacher's  profession  may  be  chosen,  or  a  professional  chair  in  some 
institution  may  be  sought  and  obtained.  More  rarely  public  lectur- 
ing is  resorted  to.  But  when  all  these  means  fail  there  always 
remains  one  other,  viz.,  authorship.  The  history  of  ideas,  of  science, 
and  of  human  achievement  in  general,  shows  that  the  greatest  sacri- 
fices have  been  continually  made  in  order  to  propagate  thought,  to 
diffuse  knowledge,  to  promulgate  truth,  and  to  advance  science. 


CH.  xv]  THE   INTELLECTUAL   FORCES  445 

Such  employments  are  rarely  remunerative,  they  are  often  made 
avocations  in  the  enforced  leisure  of  busy  professional  life.  They 
are  sometimes  pursued  in  the  face  of  poverty  and  want.  This  intel- 
lectual altruism  is  thus  preeminently  social  and  the  results  are 
socializing  and  sociogenetic. 

The  intellectual  forces  constitute  the  latest  manifestation  of  the 
dynamic  agent.  No  one  of  the  three  forms  of  interest  that  we  have 
considered  exists  in  the  mind  of  the  savage.  He  has  no  appetite  for 
knowledge.  The  earliest  aspect  of  this  is  curiosity  or  wonder,  and 
it  has  been  repeatedly  observed  by  travelers  that  savages  evince  no 
curiosity  even  at  what  must  be  to  them  the  strangest  phenomena.1 
De  Candolle 2  says  that  "  the  principle  of  all  discoveries  is  curiosity." 
James  calls  it  the  lust  for  the  new,  and  says  that  "  the  relation  of 
the  new  to  the  old,  before  the  assimilation  is  performed,  is  wonder." 3 
The  true  explanation  of  the  absence  of  curiosity,  wonder,  and  all 
interest  in  or  desire  for  knowledge  among  savages  and  inferior  races 
generally,  is  that  their  brains  have  not  developed  to  the  receptive  or 
acquisitive  point.  Its  cells  are  comparatively  coarse.  If  the  neu- 
rons could  be  examined  and  compared  with  those  of  a  highly  civil- 
ized person  there  is  no  doubt  that  great  differences  would  be  found. 
But  even  if  this  brain  structure  is  too  line  for  these  differences  to  be 
detected  by  the  most  advanced  appliances,  still  such  differences  exist 
and  are  the  true  cause  of  the  intellectual  differences.  In  this  as  in 
so  many  other  respects  savages  and  children  at  a  certain  stage  of 
ontogenetic  development  agree,  and  in  old  age  many  men  return  to  a 
second  childhood  in  the  matter  of  curiosity  and  interest  as  in  other 
matters.4 

This  brings  us  to  the  question  of  the  genesis  of  the  higher  attri- 
butes of  the  mind.  That  the  brain  has  been  developing  throughout 
all  the  early  stages  of  man's  history  is  altogether  probable,  since  it 
must  have  developed  during  the  prehuman  stage  until,  as  shown  in 
Chapter  X,  that  particular  creature  ceased  to  be  an  animal  confined 
to  a  definite  area  like  other  animals,  and  acquired  sufficient  control 

1  Captain  Cook  found  this  to  be  true  of  the  Fuegians,  Australians,  Tasmanians, 
and  other  savages.     See  his  several  Voyages  and  compare:   Darwin,  "Journal  of 
Researches,"  New  York,  1871,  pp.  227-228;    Spencer,    "  Principles  of  Sociology," 
Vol.  I,  New  York,  1877,  pp.  97-99  (§§  45,  46)  ;  Appendix  B,  pp.  t.  u. 

2  "  Histoire  des  Sciences  et  des  Savants,"  2*  e'd.,  1885,  p.  320. 
8  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  p.  110. 

4  James,  op.  tit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  401,  402. 


446  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

over  his  environment  to  adapt  it  to  his  needs.  What  was  called 
social  differentiation  began  here.  The  various  phases  described 
were  passed  through,  the  patriarchate  was  established,  and  finally 
the  era  of  social  integration  was  reached.  There  were  probably 
gains  all  through,  but  an  entirely  new  impulse  was  given  to  brain 
development  with  the  advent  of  social  amalgamation  through  con- 
quest, subjugation,  and  the  prolonged  equilibration  that  followed. 
Of  all  the  social  structures  wrought  by  this  process  the  one  that 
counted  most  effectively  in  accelerating  brain  development  and  intel- 
lectual refinement  was  the  establishment  of  a  system  of  caste.  For 
with  caste  came  the  leisure  classj  and  without  a  leisure  class  it 
would  seem  next  to  impossible  at  that  stage  of  human  history  for 
any  considerable  intellectual  advance  to  have  been  made.  In  the 
leisure  class  the  struggle  for  existence  is  eliminated.  The  so-called 
physical  wants  are  supplied,  and  there  remains  necessarily  a  large 
surplus  of  psychic  energy  demanding  an  opportunity  to  expend 
itself.  Much  of  this  energy,  indeed,  by  far  the  greater  part  of  it, 
was  of  course  wasted  —  misdirected,  erroneously  applied,  even  per- 
versely employed  —  but  a  certain  percentage  of  it,  if  only  by  acci- 
dent, must  be  turned  to  useful  purposes.  In  fact,  a  perverse  and 
socially  injurious  exercise  of  surplus  mental  energy  is  not  wholly 
without  beneficial  effects,  for  if  it  do  nothing  else  it  will  strengthen 
the  brain  and  lay  the  foundation  for  a  future  advantageous  use  of  it 
when  the  thus  strengthened  faculties  are  transmitted  to  descendants 
more  favorably  situated  for  improving  them. 

With  each  successive  assimilation  fresh  vigor  is  infused  into  soci- 
ety, the  qualities  acquired  through  leisure  are  diffused  at  least 
through  the  privileged  classes,  and  ultimately  filter  down  into  the 
less  favored  ranks  and  leaven  the  whole.  The  ruling  class,  the 
priesthood,  the  nobility,  and  ultimately  a  growing  bourgeoisie,  all 
free  themselves  from  the  thralls  of  want  and  join  the  forces  of  civ- 
ilization. At  the  expense,  it  is  true,  of  the  "  toiling  millions  "  these 
favored  ones  develop  physically  and  mentally.  They  are  well 
nourished  and  not  overworked,  exercising  all  their  faculties  more 
or  less  in  the  way  and  degree  that  nature  prescribes,  and  under 
such  conditions  of  existence  their  bodies  grow  freely  and  sym- 
metrically, and  surpass  those  of  the  lower  classes  in  size  and  regu- 
larity of  form,  until  they  become  readily  distinguished  from  the 
reduced,  stunted,  and  more  or  less  deformed  bodies  of  the  underfed, 


CH.  xv]  THE   INTELLECTUAL   FORCES  447 

overworked,  and  unduly  exposed  proletariat.  But,  other  things  equal, 
not  only  will  a  sound  body  contain  a  sane  inind,  but,  under  these 
circumstances,  the  mind  will  develop  more  rapidly  than  the  body, 
and  there  will  ultimately  be  much  greater  mental  than  physical  dif- 
ference between  the  upper  and  the  lower  classes. 

Unjust  and  almost  diabolical  as  this  method  seems,  it  is  the 
method  of  nature  the  world  over,  in  the  organic  as  well  as  in  the 
social  world.  In  pure  science  we  have  only  to  recognize  the  fact 
and  endeavor  through  it  to  explain  the  results  attained.  With  the 
rise  of  industrialism  and  in  the  multitudinous  vicissitudes  of  human 
history,  but  chiefly,  after  all,  in  consequence  of  the  enlightenment 
brought  about  through  the  intellectual  activities  of  the  favored 
classes,  a  great  leveling  up  of  mankind  began  in  the  historic  races 
some  eight  centuries  ago  which  has  continued  to  the  present  time, 
greatly  accelerated  during  the  last  two  centuries  and  becoming 
almost  universal  during  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
whereby  class  distinctions  have  been  in  great  part  broken  down  and 
the  qualities,  both  physical  and  mental,  of  the  higher  types  of  men 
have  been  transfused  throughout  all  classes.  It  is  costing  the  world 
something  to  assimilate  such  a  mass,  and  to  some  there  may  seem  to 
be  a  lowering  of  the  tone  of  former  days ;  but  what  is  lost  in  diffu- 
sion is  more  than  made  up  in  the  wider  field  offered  for  selection,  so 
that  it  is  even  doubtful  whether  the  maximum  result  has  suffered 
any  reduction. 

I  explain  this  on  the  principle  enunciated  by  Helvetius,1  which  is 
in  brief  that  (we  will  say,  in  the  historic  races)  all  men  are  intellec- 
tually equal  in  the  sense  that,  in  persons  taken  at  random  from  dif- 
ferent social  classes  the  chances  for  talent  or  ability  are  the  same 
for  each  class.  The  ones  taken  from  the  proletariat  are  as  likely  to 
prove  talented  as  those  from  the  ruling  class,  and  so  for  all  classes. 
This  seems  to  contradict  the  facts  above  stated  that  the  leisure 
class  and  the  favored  classes  in  general  actually  acquired,  through 
the  exercise  of  their  privileges,  a  marked  physical  and  mental  superi- 
ority. The  Helvetian  doctrine  must  therefore  be  understood  to 
refer  only  to  the  capacity  for  development,  and  not  to  the  actual  state 
of  development  at  any  given  time.  It  would  not  be  true  now,  and 

1  "  De  I'Homme,  de  ses  Facultes  intellectuelles  et  de  son  Education."  Ouvrage 
Posthume  de  M.  Helvetius,  Londres,  1773,  Vol.  I,  passim,  but  see  especially  Section  II, 
the  title  of  which  reads,  "  To  us  les  hommes  communement  bieu  organises  ont  une 
egale  aptitude  a  1'esprit." 


448  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

still  less  was  it  true  when  Helvetius  wrote  nearly  a  century  and  a 
half  ago.  But  thus  qualified  I  would  accept  it,  and  it  is  then 
only  necessary  for  society  to  do  for  the  less  favored  classes  what 
nature  long  ago  did  for  the  more  favored  ones  —  give  them  opportu- 
nity for  development.  This  leaves  all  the  natural  differences  among 
men  untouched,  and  deals  only  with  the  artificial  differences  due  to 
social  inequalities.  Such  considerations  lead  to  the  extreme  verge  of 
pure  sociology  with  a  strong  temptation  to  transgress  its  limits  and 
enter  the  field  of  applied  sociology.  We  must  therefore  be  content 
to  have  shown  that  the  spontaneous  processes  going  on  in  society, 
although  by  the  application  of  the  same  uneconomical,  prodigal,  and 
inequitable  method  that  characterizes  all  nature's  processes,  have 
actually  brought  about  the  present  relatively  high  state  of  intellec- 
tual development,  and  raised  the  intellect  of  man  to  the  position  of 
a  powerful  agent  of  civilization. 

THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE 

The  somewhat  extended  treatment  of  social  genesis  that  makes  up 
Part  II  of  this  work  may  be  properly  closed  by  taking  a  backward 
glance  over  the  ground  covered,  not  with  a  view  to  recapitulating  or 
summarizing  the  account  given,  but  merely  to  gaining  as  true  a  con- 
ception as  possible  of  the  relations  of  the  principal  stages  to  one 
another  and  to  the  present  state  of  the  world.  There  are  those  who 
see  so  little  beyond  what  lies  in  their  immediate  field  of  view  that 
they  lose  sight  of  these  relations  and  arrive  at  entirely  false  conclu- 
sions. It  is  proverbial  that  not  even  the  wisest  of  men  can  see 
their  own  age  as  it  will  be  seen  in  the  light  of  history.  It  is  another 
example  of  "the  illusion  of  the  near"  (see  supra,  p.  49).  It  thus 
happens  that  many  consider  their  own  age  degenerate.  The  little 
things  that  now  chiefly  absorb  their  vision  have  been  eliminated 
from  the  history  of  the  past  and  only  the  great  things  stand  out, 
and  they  perpetually  compare  the  current  trifles,  which  seem  to 
them  so  important  and  so  deplorable,  with  the  really  important  and 
universally  approved  steps  that  the  world  has  taken  in  the  past. 
They  do  not  see  that  similar  steps  are  being  slowly  taken  at  all 
times,  and  that  the  gains  will  ultimately  emerge  from  the  chaos  and 
confusion  of  the  present. 

This  illustration  from  history,  which  is  the  basis  for  the  saying 
that  "  history  is  past  politics,"  applies  with  increased  force  to  the 


CH.  xv]  THE   SOCIOLOGICAL   PERSPECTIVE  449 

great  train  of  events  that  constitutes  the  evolution  of  man  and  of 
society.  As  we  have  seen,  it  does  not  stop  with  man,  but  reaches 
back  to  the  origin  of  life.  Social  evolution  is  only  a  continuation  of 
organic  evolution,  and  there  is  quite  as  much  proof  of  the  former  as 
of  the  latter.  The  biologist  is  not  rendered  skeptical  as  to  the  fact 
of  organic  evolution  because  he  finds  along  with  the  most  highly 
developed  forms  others  that  seem  to  be  almost  at  the  base  of  the 
scale.  He  has  various  ways  of  explaining  this  fact,  and  few  consider 
it  necessary  to  assume  a  polyphyletic  scale.  But  the  existence  of 
very  low  races  of  men  contemporary  with  the  highest  types  is  a 
stumbling-block  to  many  anthropologists  and  even  sociologists,  and 
shakes  their  faith  in  social  evolution.  I  think  it  has  been  suffi- 
ciently shown  why  and  how  this  is,  but  it  is  also  true  that  there 
seems  to  be  no  race  of  men  very  near  the  base  of  the  scale.  There 
are  very  few  in  the  gynaecocratic  stage,  nearly  all  have  reached  the 
patriarchate,  and  the  greater  number  are  wholly  out  of  the  proto- 
social  stage  and  have  undergone  more  or  less  social  assimilation  or 
race  amalgamation.  Along  a  number  of  distinct  lines  there  has  been 
a  forward  movement,  until  most  of  the  black  races,  and  preeminently 
the  white  races,  have  reached  very  advanced  positions  in  social 
development.  This  has  been  accomplished  by  the  several  uncon- 
scious dynamic  influences  that  have  been  described,  and  only  to  a 
very  slight  extent  in  the  later  stages  of  the  last-named  group  of 
races  has  any  conscious  desire  for  change  or  improvement  exerted 
any  influence. 

It  may  be  willingly  admitted  that  the  most  advanced  state  that 
has  been  reached  even  by  the  highest  social  types  is  still  far  from 
ideal,  still,  indeed,  low,  compared  with  what  liberal  minds  are  capable 
of  conceiving,  but  this  is  not  to  the  point  in  pure  sociology.  The 
question  here  is :  Has  there  been  social  evolution  ?  When  we  re- 
member that  only  a  few  centuries  ago  the  same  races  that  have  pro- 
duced Laplace,  Goethe,  Newton,  and  Linnaeus,  occupying  nearly  the 
same  territory,  were  warlike  barbarians  living  in  tents  and  fighting 
with  bows  and  arrows  and  spears,  there  seems  small  warrant  for 
questioning  social  evolution  in  these  races.  On  this  point  Galton, 
in  defense  of  a  false  proposition,  still  truly  says :  — 

Man  was  barbarous  but  yesterday,  and  therefore  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  the  natural  aptitudes  of  his  race  should  already  have  become  moulded 
into  accordance  with  his  very  recent  advance.  We,  men  of  the  present  cen- 


450  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  n 

turies,  are  like  animals  suddenly  transplanted  among  new  conditions  of 
climate  and  of  food  :  our  instincts  fail  us  under  the  altered  circumstances.  .  .  . 
My  view  is  corroborated  by  the  conclusion  reached  at  the  end  of  each  of  the 
many  independent  lines  of.  ethnological  research  —  that  the  human  race 
were  utter  savages  in  the  beginning;  and  that,  after  myriads  of  years  of  bar- 
barism, man  has  but  very  recently  found  his  way  into  the  paths  of  morality 
and  civilization.1 

To  practically  the  same  effect  Letourneau  says :  — 

Can  it  be  said,  with  respect  to  benevolent  and  humanitarian  sentiments, 
that  man  has  not  progressed  since  primitive  times  ?  It  would  be  folly  so  to 
maintain.  At  the  outset  man  was  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
other  higher  mammals.  His  benevolent  sentiments  were  feeble,  intermittent, 
easily  set  aside  by  his  instincts  and  egoistic  wants ;  but  little  by  little,  as 
the  pressure  of  hunger  was  relieved,  his  egoism  became  less  fierce.  At  first 
men  only  loved  their  children  and  this  only  for  a  brief  period  after  the  man- 
ner of  animals,  then  they  took  more  or  less  care  of  the  aged  and  infirm. 
For  a  long  time  kindness  was  only  shown  to  members  of  the  family,  of  the 
tribe.  But  in  modern  times  and  among  civilized  nations,  except  in  the  case 
of  war,  men  have  reached  the  point  where  they  concede  rights  in  certain 
matters.  Without  too  great  optimism  we  may  be  allowed  to  believe  that 
humanitarian  sentiments  are  destined  to  spread  much  farther.  But  this 
noble  side  of  the  ethical  man  has  developed  very  slowly  in  the  human  mind, 
as  we  find  exceptional  traces  of  it  even  among  the  lower  human  types,  who, 
in  this  respect  as  in  many  others,  indicate  the  successive  steps  taken  by  the 
higher  specimens  of  humanity.  Thus  it  will  not  be  without  interest  to  study 
in  various  races  the  manifestations  of  altruistic  sentiments  and  the  gradual 
transition  from  the  animal  conscience  to  the  human  conscience.2 

But  most  of  the  computations  of  human  progress  have  been  made 
from  a  much  smaller  sociological  parallax,  viz.,  that  which  human 
history  presents.  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  can  read  history  without 
seeing  this.  Scarcely  any  of  the  shocking  acts  that  blacken  almost 
every  page  of  the  history  of  every  country  would  be  even  possible 
to-day  in  any  country.  Kings  did  not  hesitate  to  chop  off  the  heads 
or  put  out  the  eyes  of  their  own  sons  whom  they  feared  might  seek 
to  usurp  the  throne.  At  every  political  revolution  all  the  leaders  of 
the  unsuccessful  party  were  promptly  put  to  death.  Even  as  late 
as  the  Medicis  and  "  Bloody  Mary  "  systematic  massacres  of  all  who 
opposed  the  existing  regime  were  ordered  and  carried  out.  Often  in 

1  "  Hereditary  Genius,"  London,  1892,  p.  337. 

2  "La  Sociologie,"  etc.,  pp.  159-169.     The  chapter  which  follows  this  passage 
undertakes  to  trace  the  growth  of  benevolent  sentiments,  but  the  treatment  is  brief. 
The  author  felt  this,  and  soon  after,  devoted  an  entire  volume  to  the  subject :  L'Evo- 
lution  de  la  Morale,  Paris,  1894. 


CH.  xv]  THE   SOCIOLOGICAL   PERSPECTIVE  451 

war  no  quarter  was  given,  and  that  holy  race,  the  Hebrews,  who 
have  given  the  civilized  world  its  moral  and  religious  standards, 
when  they  attacked  a  weaker  people  for  the  purpose  of  seizing  and 
possessing  their  lands,  usually,  as  their  own  inspired  chronicles 
record,  slew  every  man,  woman,  and  child  and  left  no  soul  to  breathe. 
Children  of  the  present  day  who  are  made  to  read  such  atrocities 
rarely  have  any  conception  of  their  meaning,  their  comprehension 
being  mostly  blurred  and  dazed  by  the  "  sacred  "  style  of  the  Bible, 
which  is  simply  the  kind  of  English  that  everybody  wrote  in  the 
time  of  King  James.  To-day  there  is  a  code  of  "  civilized  warfare," 
and  any  race  or  nation  that  violates  it  is  considered  uncivilized. 
Not  only  this,  but  in  fighting  uncivilized  races  civilized  nations 
must  conform  to  this  code.  Even  as  I  write  (April,  1902)  there 
is  a  great  moral  uproar  about  the  application  to  the  insurgent 
Filipinos  of  a  certain  "  water-cure  "  test  that  these  same  Filipinos 
have  taught  to  the  American  soldiers,  a  test  which  from  all 
accounts  is  much  less  severe  than  many  of  the  "  hazing "  tests 
that  are  applied  in  our  leading  universities,  for  the  crime  of  being 
a  Freshman. 

Mr.  Spencer  has  gone  over  much  of  this  ground l  more  at  length 
than  seems  necessary  here.  A  keen  and  sympathetic  writer,  Mr. 
Robert  Blatchford,  states  the  same  truth  in  the  following  form  :  — 

There  was  a  time  when  women  were  tortured  for  witchcraft ;  when  pris- 
oners were  tortured  into  the  confession  of  crimes  of  which  they  were  innocent; 
when  good  men  and  women  were  burnt  alive  for  being  unable  to  believe  the 
dogmas  of  other  men's  religion ;  when  authors  had  their  ears  cut  off  for 
telling  the  truth ;  when  English  children  were  worked  to  death  in  the 
factories  ;  when  starving  workmen  were  hanged  for  stealing  a  little  food ; 
when  boards  of  capitalists  and  landlords  fixed  the  workers'  wages ;  when 
Trades  Unionism  was  conspiracy,  and  only  rich  men  had  votes.  Those  days 
are  gone;  those  crimes  are  impossible;  those  wrongs  are  abolished.  And 
for  these  changes  we  have  to  thank  the  agitators.2 

I  quote  the  last  sentence  of  this  paragraph  because  it  is  sugges- 
tive. It  raises  the  question:  What  is  the  cause  of  this  change? 
Many  will  not  agree  with  Mr.  Blatchford  that  it  is  wholly  or 
chiefly  due  to  agitation.  Others  will  make  agitation  in  part  an 
effect  as  well  as  a  cause.  At  most  the  agitator  is  only  a  proxi- 

i  "Principles  of  Ethics,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1892,  pp.  293  ff.  (Appendix  to  Part 
L  —  The  Conciliation).  See  also  p.  408  (§  160). 

s  "Merrie  England,"  People's  Edition,  London,  1894,  p.  193. 


452  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  11 

mate  cause.  I  have  no  disposition  to  underrate  or  disparage  the 
agitator.  I  undertook  in  Chapter  V  to  analyze  his  social  status, 
and  found  him  to  be  essentially  a  social  idealist  or  social  artist.  But 
there  must  be  deeper  causes  that  not  only  create  the  agitator  and 
the  reformer  but  that  also  created  the  quality  of  the  moral  and 
mental  soil  in  which  the  seeds  they  sow  will  take  root  and  grow. 
It  is  these  deeper  causes  that  we  are  seeking.  They  are  many, 
but  may  for  the  most  part  be  reduced  to  one,  viz.,  the  growth  of 
sympathy  in  the  human  breast.  For  although  sympathy  cannot 
be  depended  upon  as  an  economic  force,  still,  without  it  moral 
reform  would  be  impossible.  By  this  I  mean  something  definite 
and  not  a  vague  generality.  I  mean  that  those  who  suffer  wrong 
and  oppression  could  never  have  acquired  the  power  to  wrest 
justice  from  their  oppressors  without  the  aid  of  a  widespread 
sympathy  in  their  cause  on  the  part  of  others  than  themselves, 
I  had  almost  said,  on  the  part  of  their  oppressors.  This  recalls 
the  paradox  that  I  formulated  fourteen  years  ago,  viz.,  that  "  re- 
forms are  chiefly  advocated  by  those  who  have  no  personal  interest 
in  them." 1  This  taken  in  connection  with  the  other  paradox  stated 
on  the  same  page,  viz.,  that  "  discontent  increases  with  the  improve- 
ment of  the  social  condition,"2  furnishes  the  basis  for  arriving  at 
a  comprehension  of  some  of  the  most  subtle,  and  at  the  same 
time,  some  of  the  most  potent  causes  of  the  moral  advancement 
of  the  world.  But  into  such  questions  we  cannot  now  enter. 

To  any  one  who  has  read  history  it  really  is  superfluous  to 
enumerate  examples  of  the  superiority  of  modern  to  former  civili- 
zation, even  a  few  centuries  back,  but  there  are  some  kinds  of 
evidence  that  lie  deep  and  are  known  to  but  few.  I  will  men- 
tion only  one,  and  this  on  the  authority  of  a  Russian  criminologist 
as  set  forth  in  a  work  that  has  not  yet  been  translated  into  the 
better-known  languages.  This  is  a  work  on  "  Capital  Punish- 
ment," by  Wladimir  Solieff,  a  chapter  from  which  he  has  con- 
tributed to  the  Revue  Internationale  de  Sociologie  for  March,  1898. 
From  this  I  take  the  following  extract :  — 

1  The  American  Anthropologist,"  Vol.  II,  Washington,  April,  1889,  p.  123. 

2  To  the  illustrations  supplied  in  that  paper  should  be  added  that  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, which  did  not  break  out  until  many  of  the  concessions  demanded  had  been 
granted  and  the  abuses  had  greatly  diminished.    This  is  forcibly  shown  by  Guizot  in 
the  twelfth  lecture  of  his  course  on  the  general  history  of  civilization  in  Europe  (4th 
edition,  Paris,  1840,  pp.  354-355). 


CH.  xv]  THE   SOCIOLOGICAL   PERSPECTIVE  453 

Besides  the  constantly  increasing  legislative  restrictions  of  the  death 
penalty,  progress  is  manifested  still  more  directly  by  the  extraordinary 
diminution  in  death  sentences,  and  especially  in  sentences  that  have  been 
carried  out.  In  the  last  century,  notwithstanding  the  comparatively  less 
density  of  population,  the  number  punished  with  death  in  the  different 
states  of  Europe  were  counted  by  the  tens  of  thousands.  Thus  in  England, 
during  the  last  fourteen  years  of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  72,000  per- 
sons were  put  to  death,  or  an  average  of  5000  per  annum.  Under  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth  they  count  89,000  executions,  or  about  2000  per  annum.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  in  spite  of  the  notably  increased  popu- 
lation, we  see  in  place  of  these  thousands  of  annual  executions,  some  dozens 
or  hundreds  at  most ;  in  the  interval  of  the  first  twenty  years  (1806-1825) 
1615  delinquents  suffered  death,  that  is,  about  80  per  annum.  During  the 
reign  of  Queen  Victoria  the  number  thus  punished  annually  fluctuates 
between  10  and  38.  In  France  during  the  twenties  the  annual  number  con- 
demned to  death  still  amounted  to  72,  while  during  the  thirties  it  was  only 
30,  during  the  forties,  39,  during  the  fifties,  28,  during  the  sixties,  11,  during 
the  seventies,  also  11,  during  the  eighties,  only  5.  In  Austria  the  average 
number  during  the  sixties  was  7,  and  during  the  seventies  it  went  down 
to2.1 

If  statistics  could  be  obtained  for  all  countries  now  civilized 
and  for,  say,  a  thousand  years,  they  would  probably  show  a 
similar  gradual  decline  in  the  death  penalty  throughout  the  world 
and  for  all  this  time.  It  may  be  taken  not  merely  as  a  rude 
measure  of  the  moral  progress  of  the  world,  but  more  specifically  of 
the  increasing  valuation  of  life,  and  this  could  then  be  projected 
backward  to  the  time  when  at  the  death  of  a  king  thousands  were 
sacrificed  on  his  tomb,  and  many  voluntarily  gave  up  their  lives  for 
what  seems  to  us  such  a  trivial  cause. 

The  subject  might  be  looked  at  from  a  great  number  of  distinct 
points  of  view  and  everywhere  it  would  be  found  that  human  life 
has  been  in  process  of  mitigation  for  a  long  period.  The  gradual 
emancipation  of  woman  would  prove  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
of  these  lines,  but  perhaps  enough  has  already  been  said  on  this 
point,  especially  under  the  heads  of  romantic  love  and  conjugal 
love.  Under  ethical  dualism  the  general  progress  of  altruism  was 
traced  in  ever  expanding  cycles.  In  art  progress  has  gone  on, 
but  some  arts  have  declined  as  others  rose,  notably  sculpture  and 
the  purely  literary  art  in  favor  of  nature  representation  and 
scientific  delineation.  Music  seems  to  be  on  the  decline,  but  this 
may  be  only  apparent,  while  the  seeming  decline  of  painting  may  be 
1  Revue  Internationale  de  Sociologie,  sixifeme  annee,  mars,  1898,  pp.  183-184. 


454  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  a 

due  to  the  fact  that  the  conservatism  of  art  is  so  slow  in  yield- 
ing due  meed  to  new  schools,  as  was  the  case  of  the  school  of  Millet ; 
and  then  there  is  probably  something  in  the  doctrine  of  "  peasant- 
ism,"  which  seeks  to  rescue  art  from  the  exclusive  control  of 
the  leisure  class  and  place  it  at  the  disposal  of  the  humblest  of 
mankind.  Progress  may  be  quantitative  rather  than  qualitative. 
As  regards  intellectual  progress,  there  surely  is  no  call  for  defend- 
ing it.  It  is  the  characteristic  mark  of  all  modern  civilization, 
and  even  those  who  deny  its  influence  in  bettering  mankind  never 
question  the  enormous  strides  that  knowledge,  science,  and  the 
practical  arts  have  made.  I  shall  not  reargue  here  the  proposition 
I  have  so  often  defended  that  material  civilization  is  essentially 
moralizing,  but  will  close  this  chapter  with  the  words  of  James 
Bryce,  who,  after  descanting  upon  the  triumphs  of  modern  science, 
says :  — 

Still  greater  has  been  the  influence  of  a  quickened  moral  sensitiveness  and 
philanthropic  sympathy.  The  sight  of  preventible  evil  is  painful,  and  is  felt 
as  a  reproach.  He  who  preaches  patience  and  reliance  upon  natural  progress 
is  thought  callous.  The  sense  of  sin  may,  as  theologians  tell  us,  be  declin- 
ing ;  but  the  dislike  to  degrading  and  brutalizing  vice  is  increasing  :  there 
is  a  warmer  recognition  of  the  responsibility  of  each  man  for  his  neighbor, 
and  a  more  earnest  zeal  in  works  of  moral  reform.1 

1  The  American  Commonwealth,  London  and  New  York,  1888,  Vol.  II,  p.  407 
(3d  ed.,  1895,  Vol.  H,  p.  539). 


PART  III 
TELESIS 


CHAPTER   XVI 
THE   DIRECTIVE   AGENT 

THE  intellectual  forces,  treated  in  the  last  section  of  the  last 
chapter  devoted  to  the  dynamic  agent,  might  seem  to  form  a 
natural  and  easy  transition  to  the  treatment  of  the  intellect  or 
directive  agent.  This  arrangement  is  certainly  logical,  but  when 
we  come  to  realize  what  the  intellect  really  is,  it  will  become 
apparent  that  there  is  no  transition  possible  from  feeling  to  thought 
or  from  intellect  as  a  seat  of  emotion,  appetite,  and  motive  power 
to  intellect  as  the  organ  or  source  of  thought  and  ideas.  The  dis- 
tinction is  generic  and  there  are  no  intermediate  stages  or  gradations 
from  the  one  to  the  other.  They  are  phenomena  of  entirely  differ- 
ent orders  and  do  not  admit  of  comparison.  The  attempt  to  reduce 
one  to  the  other  would  be  like  attempting  to  reduce  feet  to  pounds. 
Indeed,  they  are  more  unlike  than  any  two  different  measurable 
units,  since  while  one  is  in  a  sense  measurable,  being  a  force,  the 
other  is  wholly  incommensurable,  being  a  relation.  This  absolute 
distinction  is  not  in  the  least  affected  by  the  admission  that  I  would 
myself  freely  make,  that  thought  is  a  consequence  of  feeling,  i.e.,  a 
relation  between  feelings,  for  the  thought  is  neither  of  the  terms 
between  which  the  relation  subsists,  but  only  the  relation  itself. 

THE  OBJECTIVE  FACULTIES 

The  dynamic  agent  resides  entirely  in  the  subjective  faculties  of 
mind,  and  thus  far  attention  has  been  wholly  concentrated  on  those 
faculties.  The  directive  agent  resides  exclusively  in  the  objective 
faculties,  and  we  have  now  to  concentrate  our  attention  on  these 
faculties  and  to  search  after  their  true  nature.  It  was  shown  in 
the  sixth  and  seventh  chapters  that  mind  was  of  dual  nature,  sub- 
jective and  objective,  but  its  objective  side  could  not  be  treated 
there.  The  science  of  subjective  psychic  phenomena  ought  to  be 
called  esthetics,  and  was  so  called  by  Kant  in  his  "  Transcendental 
^Esthetics."  That  of  objective  psychic  phenomena  is  properly  called 

457 


458  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

noetics,  and  this  term  was  used,  at  least  as  an  adjective,  by  Aris- 
totle,1 though  in  a  somewhat  different  sense.  Sir  William  Hamilton 
revived  it  and  defined  it  as  embracing  "all  those  cognitions  that 
originate  in  the  mind  itself."2  The  noun  noetics  would  then 
become  a  new  and  useful  term,  while  noetic  would  be  nearly 
synonymous  with  intellectual.  We  might  also  have  the  correspond- 
ing word  noology,  which  would  not  be  synonymous  with  noetics,  but 
would  differ  from  it  as  all  words  thus  formed  differ  from  each 
other. 

In  the  present  chapter  we  can  only  give  a  brief  logical  treatment 
of  objective  psychic  phenomena,  leaving  their  historical  or  genetic 
treatment  for  the  next  chapter.  This  can  be  brief,  because  it 
is  the  only  kind  of  treatment  that  is  to  be  found  in  works  on 
"  intellectual  philosophy,"  which  until  recently  constituted  the  only 
treatment  of  the  mind  that  any  one  thought  worth  offering.  It  can- 
not be  said  that  this  department  has  been  slighted,  and  there 
remains  scarcely  anything  to  be  said  that  can  be  called  new.  The 
sociologist  does  not  need  all  that  exists  relating  to  this  subject,  and 
for  our  present  purpose  a  small  part  of  it  is  sufficient.  We  can  well 
spare  the  reader  any  extended  survey  of  the  nature  of  the  senses  as 
the  original  sources  of  the  materials  of  the  mind,  and  confine  our- 
selves to  the  principal  steps  in  the  psychologic  process  leading 
up  to  thought.  We  cannot,  however,  ignore  the  phenomena  of 
sensation  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  both  the  subjective  and 
the  objective  operations  of  the  mind. 

The  classification  of  sensations  is  the  most  fundamental  of  all 
considerations  relative  to  mental  phenomena.  The  duality  begins 
here,  and  the  two  great  trunks  that  diverge  from  this  point  never 
again  approach  each  other  but  always  remain  distinct.  The  two 
kinds  of  sensation,  which  I  distinguish  as  intensive  sensation  and 
indifferent  sensation,  form  the  two  primary  roots  of  the  mind,  the 
subjective  root  and  the  objective  root,  and  from  this  origin  the  two 
trunks  rise  as  if  separate  and  independent  trees.  By  intensive 
sensation,  as  I  have  explained  in  Chapter  VII,  we  must  understand 
that  form  of  sensation  which  constitutes  an  interest  for  the  organ- 

1  "  Nichomachean  Ethics,"  VI,  2, 6.    "  NOIJTIACWC  fiopluv  "  is  here  usually  translated 
"  intellectual  parts,"  whereby  the  word  noetic  has  been  lost  to  modern  languages. 

2  "Lectures  on  Metaphysics,"  by  Sir  William  Hamilton,  edited  by  H.  L.  Mansel 
and  John  Veitch,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1859,  Vol.  II,  pp.  34&-350  (Lecture  XXXVIII). 


CH.  xvi]  THE   OBJECTIVE   FACULTIES  459 

ism,  and  which  must  therefore  be,  to  however  slight  a  degree, 
agreeable  or  the  reverse,  and  thus  calculated  to  prompt  action. 
This  is  the  root  of  the  subjective  faculties  as  worked  out  in  that 
chapter,  the  biologic  origin  of  which  was  set  forth  at  length.  Out 
of  this  grew  the  whole  affective  and  motor  side  of  mind  constituting 
the  dynamic  agent. 

We  have  now  to  do  with  the  other  kind  of  sensation  called  indif- 
ferent, and  we  shall  find  that  out  of  this  has  grown  the  entire  ob- 
jective, intellectual,  or  noetic  department  of  mind.  It  was  Reid1 
who  first  and  most  clearly  explained  and  illustrated  indifferent  sen- 
sation, and  distinguished  it  from  intensive  sensation,  although  of 
course  he  did  not  employ  these  terms.  True,  it  need  only  be  stated 
to  be  perceived  by  all  that  the  sense  of  touch  is  so  constituted  that 
it  is  often  possible  to  experience  very  distinct  and  vivid  sensations 
that  are  neither  pleasurable  nor  painful  in  the  slightest  degree. 
Probably  every  point  on  the  surface  of  the  body  is  capable  of  such 
sensations,  but  some  parts  are  far  more  susceptible  to  them  than 
others,  as  for  example,  the  ends  or  "  balls "  of  the  fingers  as  com- 
pared with  the  back  of  the  hand  or  even  the  corresponding  parts  of 
the  toes.  Everybody  always  knew  this,  but  the  meaning  of  it  had 
never  been  reflected  upon.  Reid  did  not  of  course  grasp  its  full 
meaning,  but  he  drew  special  attention  to  the  fact.  Most  persons 
who  ever  think  of  it  at  all  probably  look  upon  it  as  a  question  of 
degree,  and  would  say  that  a  painful  sensation  might  be  gradually 
diminished  until  it  became  an  indifferent  one.  This  is  probably  not 
the  case  at  all,  and  the  two  kinds  of  sensations  not  only  belong  to 
two  distinct  orders,  but  are  probably  conveyed  by  different  sets  of 
nerves,  as  distinct  as  are  the  gustatory  nerves  of  the  tongue  and 
palate  from  the  monitory  or  pain  nerves  of  the  same  organs.  But 
Reid  did  not  merely  point  out  the  distinction,  he  also  showed  that  it 
was  through  these  sensations  that  are  neither  pleasurable  nor  pain- 
ful that  the  mind  is  able  to  distinguish  objects,  i.e.,  that  it  gains  its 
notions  of  the  different  properties  of  bodies.  This  is  the  important 
fact.  Intensive  sensations  do  not  convey  such  notions.  In  fact  it 
is  through  indifferent  sensations  and  through  these  alone  that  sen- 

1  The  Works  of  Thomas  Reid,  D.D.,  now  fully  collected  with  selections  from  his 
unpublished  letters.  Preface,  notes,  and  supplementary  dissertations  by  Sir  William 
Hamilton.  Prefixed,  Stewart's  account  of  the  life  and  writings  of  Reid.  Sixth  edi- 
tion, Edinburgh,  1863,  Vol.  I.  A.  "Inquiry  into  the  Human  Mind,"  Chapter  V, 
Section  II,  p.  118. 


460  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

tient  beings  acquire  all  their  knowledge  of  the  properties  of  bodies, 
and  thus  acquaint  themselves  with  the  nature  of  the  external  world. 
It  is  through  them  that  we  are  enabled  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  the 
environment,  and  thereby  to  adapt  ourselves  to  it.  Indifferent  sen- 
sation constitutes  the  primary  source  of  all  knowledge  ;  i.e.,  knowl- 
edge of  properties  as  distinguished  from  qualities. 

The  names  given  by  different  psychologists  to  the  several  steps  in 
the  objective  psychologic  process  differ,  and  there  has  been  a  great 
amount  of  vague  discussion  indicating  much  confusion  of  thought. 
Without  going  into  the  subject  with  a  view  to  clearing  up  the  con- 
fusion I  will  indicate  by  simple  terms  what  seem  to  be  the  principal 
steps  in  the  process,  and  if  any  one  prefers  different  terms  it  is  of 
no  moment,  provided  the  process  is  understood.  The  first  psycho- 
logic fact  is  the  indifferent  sensation,  but  this  is  produced  by  an 
object,  so  that  the  contact  of  an  object  with  the  nerves  of  sense  is 
the  initial  step.  This  may  be  called  an  impression,  employed  in  such 
a  special  sense  as  to  exclude  the  sensation.  It  is  thus  the  simple 
fact  that  an  object  comes  into  contact  with  the  part  of  the  body  that 
is  to  experience  and  convey  the  sensation.  The  second  fact  or  step 
is  the  sensation.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  the  neurosis  of  the 
process,  but  shall  adhere  as  closely  as  possible  to  the  phenomena  of 
psychosis.  We  have  already  seen  what  an  indifferent  sensation  is. 
It  is  a  distinct  awareness,  but  unattended  by  any  intensive,  we 
might  almost  say,  moral,  quality.  It  arouses  no  interest,  and  there- 
fore prompts  no  action.  This  stage,  however,  is  certainly  subjective 
—  it  is  a  feeling.  In  an  intensive  sensation,  which  is  psychologi- 
cally coordinate  with  indifferent  sensation,  the  next  step  is  a  dispo- 
sition to  act.  But  in  an  indifferent  sensation  there  is  no  such 
disposition.  It  is  exactly  here  that  the  two  great  departments  of 
mind  diverge.  Although  indifferent  in  the  sense  of  not  arousing  a 
subjective  interest,  the  kind  of  sensation  we  are  now  considering 
does  give  rise  to  a  series  of  psychologic  steps,  but  they  are  objective, 
in  that  they  all  relate  to  the  object  that  has  impressed  the  sense. 
The  sensation  conveys  to  the  mind  a  notion  of  the  object.  Some 
property,  if  it  be  only  that  of  resistance,  is  made  known  to  the 
mind.  Every  property  that  really  causes  a  sensation  is  reported  at 
once  to  the  mind  and  recorded  there.  What  shall  this  fact  be 
called  ?  For  it  I  prefer  the  old  and  well-known  term,  perception. 

Perception,  then,  is  the  first  objective  step   in   the  psychologic 


CH.  xvi]  THE  OBJECTIVE  FACULTIES  461 

process,  and  from  this  fact  it  seems  appropriate  to  call  the  objective 
faculties  of  the  mind  perceptive,  and  to  use  this  term  as  the  antithe- 
sis to  the  term  affective  applicable  to  the  subjective  faculties.  Then, 
without  inventing  a  new  term  we  can  use  the  same  word  perception 
in  the  passive  sense  for  the  record  of  a  property  conveyed  to  the 
mind  through  perception  in  the  active  sense,  but  it  is  better  in 
purely  scientific  and  technical  language  to  use  the  shorter  form 
percept  for  the  state  of  consciousness,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  that 
somewhat  obsolete  term,  reserving  the  fuller  form  perception  for 
the  act  of  consciousness  of  conveying  a  notion  of  a  property  to  the 
mind.  The  external  world  consists  of  objects,  and  these  are  con- 
stantly appealing  to  all  the  senses.  It  would  seem  that  a  single  day 
in  any  ordinary  environment  would  be  sufficient  to  fill  the  mind 
with  percepts  so  that  no  more  could  be  added.  But  the  psycholo- 
gists have  explained  that  the  mind  almost  immediately  learns  to  sift 
its  materials,  so  that  wholly  useless  percepts  are  not  only  not  re- 
tained in  consciousness,  but  are  not  allowed  to  occupy  it.  They  are 
virtually  excluded  from  it,  and  the  result  is  the  same  as  if  only  per- 
cepts of  some  supposed  value  were  received. 

Every  object  is  a  complex  of  properties,  and  if  all  the  properties 
of  an  object  be  supposed  to  have  been  perceived  there  exist  in  the 
mind  a  large  number  of  percepts.  The  next  step  is  to  unite  these 
percepts  into  one,  so  that  there  shall  be  a  state  of  consciousness 
corresponding  to  the  whole  object.  The  process  by  which  this  is 
done  is  called  conception,  and  the  product  is  a  conception  of  the 
object,  or  a  concept.  Objects  are  not  necessarily  material,  though 
there  must  be  an  ultimate  material  basis  for  all  perceptions  and  con- 
ceptions. A  property  is  a  force  of  some  kind  residing  in  an  object, 
and  all  the  immaterial  objects,  such  as  love,  justice,  position,  direc- 
tion, distance,  etc.,  are  relations  growing  out  of  material  things,  and, 
though  not  properties,  are  perceivable  and  conceivable  things,  and 
are  capable  of  generating  percepts  and  concepts. 

The  next  step  in  the  psychologic  process  is  to  compare  percepts 
and  concepts  and  detect  likenesses  and  differences.  This  process  is 
sometimes  called  judgment,  and  the  mental  state  corresponding  to 
the  act  is  a  judgment.  Here  we  are  troubled  to  avoid  using  the 
same  word  in  two  senses,  for  we  want  to  say  that  the  mind  perceives 
these  likenesses  and  unlikenesses.  This  would  make  judgment  an- 
other kind  of  perception.  Considerable  was  said  in  the  last  chapter 


462  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

relative  to  this  process  of  mental  exploration  for  identities,  because 
this  act  of  mind  is  highly  pleasurable  and  constitutes  one  of  the 
most  effective  of  the  sociogenetic  forces.  We  are  now  concerned 
only  with  the  psychologic  process,  which  is  a  different  aspect  of  the 
same  general  fact.  Judgment  in  this  restricted  sense  is  the  simplest 
form  of  this  mental  exploration,  and  the  more  complex  forms  more 
properly  receive  the  name  of  ideation,  the  products  being  ideas, 
which  are  creations  of  the  mind  in  a  very  proper  sense  of  the  word 
creation.  This  form  of  creation,  however,  is  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  form  called  imagination,  in  which  the  products  are  not  real,  i.e., 
they  are  not  discovered  truths,  but  created  fictions.  In  both  cases 
they  are  creations  in  the  sense  that  they  are  new-made  things  not 
previously  existing  in  the  mind,  but  in  the  one  case  they  have  a 
corresponding  objective  reality,  while  in  the  other  there  is  no  real 
condition  to  which  they  correspond. 

Reasoning  is  simply  a  more  complex  form  of  ideation,  and  the 
ratiocination  or  ergotism  of  the  logicians  is  only  one  kind  of  reason- 
ing and  one  little  used  by  the  ordinary  mind.  The  highest  form  of 
reasoning  is  generalization,  whereby  the  larger  conceptions  and  the 
conclusions  or  deductions  from  the  widest  inductions  are  grouped 
into  still  higher  laws  and  truths  and  the  maximum  unity  is  attained 
in  the  operations  of  mind. 

Such  is  a  brief  sketch  of  the  nature  of  the  directive  agent  with  a 
view  solely  to  distinguishing  it  clearly  from  the  dynamic  agent. 

CONTROL  OF  THE  DYNAMIC  AGENT 

The  two  great  agents  or  agencies  of  society  are  the  dynamic  and 
the  directive.  To  the  former  of  these  ten  chapters  were  devoted. 
It  has  been  a  prolonged  search  for  the  underlying  forces  of  society, 
and  most  readers  will  probably  admit  that  the  search  has  not  been 
in  vain.  We  have  dealt  solely  with  the  propelling  force  of  society, 
comparable  to  the  wind  that  fills  the  sails  or  the  steam  power  that 
turns  the  screw  of  a  vessel  at  sea.  We  have  found  an  abundance  of 
this  power,  and  we  have  seen  what  results  it  has  accomplished.  But 
the  social  forces  are  natural  forces  and  obey  mechanical  laws.  They 
are  blind  impulses.  This  is  as  true  of  the  spiritual  as  of  the  physi- 
cal forces.  Natural  or  genetic  restraints  there  certainly  are,  and  we 
have  analyzed  these  and  shown  in  what  ways  they  take  the  place 
of  rational  control  and  permit  social  evolution  to  go  on.  But  thus 


CH.  xvi]          CONTROL  OF  THE  DYNAMIC   AGENT  463 

far  the  influence  of  ideas  has  been  kept  as  completely  out  of  view  as 
possible,  at  least  as  a  controlling  agency. 

But  an  agency  need  not  necessarily  be  a  force.  The  directive 
agent  is  not  such,  and  yet  its  influence  is  immense.  The  dynamic 
agent  seeks  its  end  directly,  but  the  essential  characteristic  of  the 
directive  agent  is  indirection.  It  seeks  its  end  through  means.  It 
is  a  guiding  agency.  It  is  to  be  compared  to  the  helm  of  a  ship,  or 
rather  to  the  man  at  the  helm,  or  to  a  pilot.  Clearly  to  see  that  this 
is  not  a  force  we  have  only  to  imagine  the  ship  becalmed.  It  mat- 
ters not  how  skillful  the  helmsman,  he  is  powerless  without  the  pro- 
pelling agent.  And  so  society  would  instantly  stop  in  its  whole  career 
should  the  dynamic  agent  —  the  wants  and  passions  of  men  —  fail 
for  any  cause,  and  cease  to  propel  the  social  bark.  Nevertheless, 
social  evolution  must  always  remain  on  a  comparatively  low  plane 
unless  raised  to  a  higher  level  and  guided  to  better  things  by  the 
directive  agent  —  the  rational  faculty  of  man.  It  is  profitless  to 
compare  the  respective  values  of  two  agencies  both  of  which  are 
absolutely  essential  to  any  high  development. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  restraint  and  control  of  social  energy  is  the 
only  condition  to  social  evolution.  All  true  forces  are  in  themselves 
essentially  centrifugal  and  destructive.  There  are  two  ways  in 
which  the  social  energy  has  been  controlled,  the  one  an  unconscious 
process  comparable  to  that  of  organic  evolution,  and  indeed  to  that 
of  inorganic  evolution  in  the  formation  of  world  systems,  the  other 
conscious,  and  wholly  unlike  the  first.  The  unconscious  method 
was  fully  set  forth  in  Chapter  X,  and  is  that  by  which  all  social 
structures  have  been  formed.  The  conscious  method  remains  to  be 
considered.  It  is  the  telic  method  or  social  telesis.  Through  the 
unconscious  or  genetic  method  —  social  genesis  —  all  the  funda- 
mental social  structures  or  human  institutions  were  formed  or  con- 
structed, and  under  the  operations  of  the  several  dynamic  principles 
considered  in  Chapter  XI,  these  structures  were  enabled  to  change 
and  social  progress  was  made  possible.  Moreover,  through  the  sev- 
eral sociogenetic  forces,  though  still  genetic,  a  certain  degree  of  so- 
cialization was  achieved  and  civilization  was  carried  forward  to  a 
certain  stage.  It  only  required  the  addition  of  the  telic  or  direc- 
tive agent  to  make  possible  all  the  higher  steps  that  have  been  taken 
practically  in  the  same  direction. 

It  was  sufficiently  difficult,  in  considering  the  ontogenetic  and 


464  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

phylogeuetic  forces,  to  leave  out  of  view  the  more  or  less  simultane- 
ous and  constantly  increasing  sociogenetic  factors,  but  most  embar- 
rassing of  all  has  been,  all  through  our  analysis  of  the  strictly 
genetic  influences  at  work  in  society,  to  keep  in  the  background  the 
effects  of  the  telic  agent,  which,  though  theoretically  later  in  origin, 
has  still  been  constantly  on  the  scene  since  the  dawn  of  manhood, 
and  was,  indeed,  as  it  has  been  necessary  repeatedly  to  insist,  the 
distinguishing  characteristic  of  man,  and  the  condition  precedent  to 
every  event  that  typifies  the  human  race  and  makes  man  other  than 
a  simple  constituent  of  the  animal  fauna  of  the  globe.  But  in  the 
next  chapter  it  will  be  shown  that  throughout  all  the  earlier  stages 
of  man's  prehistoric,  and  even  of  his  early  historic  career,  this  telic 
faculty  was  so  exclusively  egoistic,  and  so  completely  an  adjunct  to 
and  servant  of  the  dynamic  agent  or  human  will  that  it  accomplished 
little  more  than  to  heighten  and  strengthen  man's  fierce  passions, 
and  sometimes,  as  in  the  subjection  of  woman,  its  effect  was  posi- 
tively retrogressive,  at  least  for  a  time.  The  egoistic  reason  is 
normally  centrifugal.  When  it  is  employed  exclusively  in  guiding 
its  possessor  to  the  more  complete  attainment  of  the  satisfaction  of 
desire  it  vastly  increases  the  waywardness  of  men  in  their  tendencies 
to  make  feeling  an  end  at  the  expense  of  function.  All  through 
man's  early  history,  therefore,  and  to  a  large  extent  throughout  his 
later  history  and  in  the  most  advanced  stages  of  society,  the  group 
reason  has  been  compelled  to  counteract  these  effects,  and  has  con- 
structed vast  systems  of  religion  to  this  end.  But  even  these  have 
often  overshot  their  mark  by  imagining  hostile  powers  and  leading 
men  into  the  most  extravagant  follies  and  shocking  practices  that 
largely  neutralize  their  beneficial  influence  upon  society.  For  error 
is  itself  the  offspring  of  reason. 

That  primitive  reasoning  and  early  philosophy  are  anthropo- 
morphic is  now  well  understood  by  all,  but  it  has  escaped  observa- 
tion that  the  refined  speculations  of  the  philosophers  of  antiquity, 
medieval  times,  and  largely  of  more  modern  times,  are  also  anthropo- 
morphic. These  philosophers  have  specially  studied  the  human 
mind,  by  which  they  always  mean  the  objective,  never  the  subjec- 
tive, faculties.  They  early  discovered  the  telic  principle,  but  they 
did  not  find  it  in  the  human  mind.  They  only  found  it,  or  rather, 
implanted  it,  in  the  mind  of  a  divine  being  of  their  own  creation, 
and  did  not  discover  that  they  had  taken  the  materials  for  it  from 


CH.  xvi]  CONTROL  OF   THE   DYNAMIC    AGENT  465 

their  own  minds.  As  far  back  as  Plato  we  find  the  germs  of  a  doc- 
trine that  afterwards  took  the  name  of  teleology,  but  this  doctrine 
would  be  better  called  theoteleology,  since  it  simply  postulates  a 
power  outside  of  nature  directing  it  toward  some  end.  A  careful 
scrutiny  of  the  fundamental  character  of  the  rational  faculty,  or 
intellect,  reveals  the  fact  that  it  always  operates  on  the  telic  or 
teleological  principle.  This  principle  may  therefore  be  called 
anthropotdeology,  although  if  any  other  being,  whether  lower  or 
higher  than  man,  can  be  shown  to  possess  an  intellect  it  must  nec- 
essarily employ  the  same  method. 

If,  then,  we  take  a  comprehensive  view  of  all  the  phenomena  of 
society  we  will  see  that  they  fall  under  two  radically  distinct  classes, 
and  we  shall  have  the  purely  spontaneous  or  natural  phenomena  of 
society,  on  the  one  hand,  produced  by  the  dynamic  agent,  and  the 
phenomena  that  result  from  intention  or  design,  on  the  other  hand, 
which  are  the  products  of  the  directive  agent  in  the  sense  that  but 
for  the  directive  agent  they  would  not  have  taken  place.  An  ice- 
berg breaks  loose  from  its  Arctic  moorings  and  drifts  across  the 
Atlantic.  It  is  sighted  by  an  ocean  steamer  on  its  way  from  Liver- 
pool to  New  York.  The  iceberg  drifts  on  under  the  influence  of 
wind  and  current,  strikes  the  Gulf  Stream  and  is  borne  away  toward 
the  coast  of  Norway,  having  pursued  a  very  irregular,  zigzag  path, 
and  ultimately  melts  away.  The  steamer  pursues  the  definite  course 
marked  out  for  it  on  the  charts  and  finally  is  brought  by  a  pilot 
through  the  windings  of  New  York  harbor  and  is  safely  moored  at 
the  dock.  The  phenomena  presented  by  the  iceberg  are  strictly 
genetic,  those  presented  by  the  ocean  liner  are  mainly  telic,  although 
in  both  cases  the  forces  of  propulsion  are  nothing  but  dynamic  forces 
producing  motion  in  a  straight  line  in  the  direction  in  which  they 
act.  The  irregularities  in  the  course  of  the  iceberg  are  due  to  a 
plurality  of  genetic  forces  and  represent  their  resultant  direction. 
The  bendings  and  windings  executed  by  the  vessel  are  due  to  exter- 
nally imposed  forces  of  direction  from  the  intelligence  of  man,  and 
are  telic,  or  anthropoteleological. 

Telic  phenomena  may  also  be  called  artificial,  as  distinguished 
from  natural  in  the  sense  of  genetic.  For  all  art  is  telic.  The  dis- 
tinction is  sometimes  said  to  be  that  between  growth  and  manufac- 
ture, for  growth  is  the  type  of  the  genetic  process  in  organic  nature, 
while  manufacture  is  the  final  stage  in  art  and  results  in  wholly 


466  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

artificial  products.  Social  phenomena  frequently  illustrate  this  dis- 
tinction on  a  large  scale,  as  in  the  two  classes  of  cities  and  towns, 
those  which  have  merely  grown  up  spontaneously  along  certain 
ancient  lines,  as  along  the  paths  that  the  cows  originally  followed  in 
coming  home  to  be  fed  (said  to  be  the  origin  of  the  streets  of  Boston), 
and  those,  like  Washington,  that  have  been  laid  out  on  paper  by  an 
engineer  before  there  was  any  population,  and  the  plan  adhered  to  as 
the  city  grew.  In  every  case  the  forces  of  nature  are  directed  and 
controlled  by  the  intellect.  In  the  last  case  the  dynamic  agent  of 
society  is  thus  directed,  and  in  sociology  the  problem  always  ulti- 
mately becomes  that  of  controlling  the  social  forces.  Left  to  them- 
selves they  blindly  impel  or  propel  mankind,  and  the  world  drifts 
as  aimlessly  as  the  iceberg.  The  mission  of  the  directive  agent  is 
to  guide  society  through  no  matter  how  tortuous  a  channel  to  the 
safe  harbor  of  social  prosperity. 

THE  FINAL  CAUSE 

The  directive  agent  is  a  final  cause.  Genetic  phenomena  are  pro- 
duced by  efficient  causes  only.  In  an  efficient  cause  a  force  acts 
upon  a  body  and  impels  it  in  the  direction  in  which  the  force  acts. 
This  is  the  simplest  form,  but  most  examples  are  compound.  There 
is  a  plurality  of  forces  having  different  intensities  and  acting  in 
different  directions.  The  body  impressed  has  a  motion  of  its  own 
and  reacts  upon  the  impinging  bodies.  Any  degree  of  complication 
may  be  imagined,  but  the  principle  is  not  affected  and  the  general 
effect  will  always  be  the  exact  resultant  or  algebraic  sum  of  all  the 
forces  involved.  All  natural,  spontaneous,  or  genetic  phenomena 
conform  to  this  law.  There  must  be  contact,  impact,  collision,  pres- 
sure, always  a  vis  a  tergo.  If  we  call  the  effect  the  end,  then, 
in  genetic  phenomena  the  effect  is  always  in  immediate  contact 
with- the  cause.  This  is  as  true  of  cell  growth,  or  of  the  action 
of  the  neurons  of  the  brain  in  generating  a  thought,  as  it  is  of 
two  billiard  balls.  There  is  no  "  actio  in  distans,"  and  the  phrase 
simply  expresses  our  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  certain  media  and 
forces. 

In  contradistinction  to  this  definition  of  an  efficient  cause,  a  final 
cause  is  always  more  or  less  remote  from  its  effect  or  end.  This  is 
implied  in  the  term  jfoiaZ.  We  are  now  to  inquire  how  this  can  be. 
It  has  been  repeatedly  said  that  the  directive  agent  is  not  a  force. 


CH.  xvi]  THE  FINAL  CAUSE  467 

It  may  now  be  equally  said  that  a  final  cause  is  not  a  force.  It  is 
not,  however,  a  simple,  but  a  complex  conception.  No  less  than 
three  things  are  embraced  in  the  idea  of  a  final  cause.  The  end  is 
seen,  i.e.,  known,  by  the  mind.  Some  natural  property  or  force  is 
also  known  to  exist  and  its  action  upon  the  material  things  to  be 
moved  is  understood.  This  force  or  property  is  a  means  to  the  end, 
and  it  is  only  necessary  to  adjust  the  body  to  be  moved  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  known  natural  force  will  impel  it  to  the  perceived 
end.  This  adjustment  is  usually  accomplished  by  the  exercise  of 
muscular  force  of  the  agent  in  obedience  to  his  will.  Both  the 
natural  force  and  the  muscular  force  are  efficient  causes,  and  all  the 
motion  is  the  result  of  these  two  forces.  The  final  cause  therefore 
consists  essentially  in  the  knowledge  of  the  telic  agent  of  the  nature 
of  the  natural  force  and  the  relations  subsisting  between  the  subject, 
the  object,  the  force,  and  the  end. 

This  again  is  the  simplest  case,  but  no  matter  how  complex  the 
case  may  be  it  may  be  reduced  to  this  simple  form.  As  we  saw  in 
the  case  of  the  ship,  natural  forces  alone  propel.  The  helmsman 
exerts  a  slight  muscular  force  at  the  wheel,  but  it  is  his  knowledge 
of  the  effect  of  turning  the  wheel  this  way  or  that  and  so  much,  that 
constitutes  his  direction  of  the  ship.  The  captain  may  simply  com- 
mand the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  thus,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned, 
reduce  the  muscular  effort  to  that  of  speaking.  The  three  steps  are : 
knowledge,  adjustment,  natural  force.  The  last  is  what  "  does  the 
work."  Without  the  knowledge  the  adjustment  would  be  impos- 
sible, and  without  the  adjustment  the  force  would  be  ineffectual. 
The  force  and  the  adjustment  are  really  both  means,  but  in  common 
language  the  latter  is  neglected,  and  it  may  then  be  said  that  a  final 
cause  is  the  rational  employment  of  the  means  to  an  end.  The 
means  is  always  an  efficient  cause,  so  that  final  causes  consist  in  the 
intelligent  command  or  utilization  of  efficient  causes  or  the  forces  of 
nature.  This  approaches  very  close  to  the  formula  used  as  a  defi- 
nition of  civilization :  "  the  utilization  of  the  materials  and  forces  of 
nature,"  and  when  closely  viewed  it  is  seen  that  civilization  chiefly 
consists  in  the  exercise  of  the  telic  faculty.  If  we  regard  all  the 
forces  of  nature,  including  even  the  social  forces,  as  so  many  means 
to  the  ends  of  man  and  society,  telesis  becomes  the  adjustment  of 
means  to  ends,  and  all  human  effort  is  expended  upon  the  means. 
There  is  a  suggestive  analogy  here  between  intelligence  and  instinct, 


468  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

which  latter,  as  we  saw  in  Chapter  VII,  consists  in  the  development 
of  a  desire  for  a  means,  brought  about  by  natural  selection  to 
secure  the  ends  of  function.  And  now  here  on  the  higher  human 
plane  we  find  mankind  in  full  pursuit  of  a  great  variety  of  means 
through  which  alone  the  attainment  of  cherished  ends  becomes 
possible. 

In  efficient  causes  the  effect  is  always  exactly  equal  to  the  cause. 
In  final  causes  the  effect  is  usually  wholly  out  of  proportion  to  the 
cause,  if  by  cause  we  here  mean  the  personal  effort  put  forth.  The 
cause  and  effect  are  really  not  commensurable,  since  the  effort  is  not 
directed  to  the  end  at  all.  But  speaking  loosely  the  effect  may  be 
said  to  be  in  normal  cases  much  greater  than  the  cause,  and  in  cer- 
tain cases  it  is  enormously  greater.  The  adjustment  may  require 
very  small  outlay  of  energy,  while  the  force  into  whose  way  the 
object  may  be  thus  placed  may  be  exceedingly  powerful.  This  is 
well  exemplified  in  electric  motors  where  the  powerful  circuits  are 
cut  and  restored  by  a  mere  touch  of  the  button.  As  a  rule  effort 
and  intelligence  are  inversely  proportional,  so  that  the  dispropor- 
tion between  cause  and  effect  increases  with  man's  knowledge  of 
natural  forces.  This  has  been  the  constant  tendency  of  science, 
which  is  nothing  else  than  the  grasp  of  natural  laws  and  processes, 
so  that  the  control  and  utilization  of  the  powers  of  nature  have  kept 
pace  with  the  growth  of  the  telic  faculty. 

A  final  cause  may  therefore  represent  any  amount  of  natural  force 
that  the  intellect  of  man  can  reduce  to  his  service.  It  is  practically 
unlimited.  The  intellect  has  it  in  its  power  to  subjugate  all  nature 
and  to  reduce  all  the  forces  of  nature  to  the  condition  of  contributors 
to  man's  needs.  How  far  this  process  can  be  carried  it  is  certainly 
too  early  to  predict,  especially  in  the  light  of  what  has  been  accom- 
plished in  the  last  two  centuries,  chiefly  in  the  last  one  century. 
When  we  consider  how  little  was  done  in  this  direction  in  all  the 
ages  that  preceded  the  era  of  science,  how  little  all  the  races  of  the 
world,  outside  of  the  one  race  that  leads  the  movement,  have  ever 
done,  and  compare  this  with  the  achievements  of  that  one  race  dur- 
ing this  brief  space  of  time,  we  dare  not  attempt  to  peer  into  the 
future.  And  when  we  realize  that  all  this  is  the  result  of  thought 
set  in  the  right  direction  and  devoted  to  things,  which  are,  as  we 
have  seen,  essentially  dynamic,  we  may  truly  say  that  thought  is  the 
sum  of  all  forces. 


CH.  xvi]  THE  METHOD  OF  MIND  469 

THE  METHOD  OF  MIND 

The  method  of  mind  is  the  precise  opposite  of  the  method  of 
nature.  The  method  of  nature  with  unlimited  resources  is  to  pro- 
duce an  enormously  redundant  supply  and  trust  the  environment  to 
select  the  best.  This  survival  of  the  fittest  involves  a  sacrifice  of 
a  great  majority.  It  is  therefore  in  a  high  degree  wasteful.  The 
number  rejected  is  far  greater  than  the  number  selected,  and  there- 
fore all  the  energy  expended  in  producing  the  ones  that  are  rejected 
is  wasted  energy.  It  is  a  method  of  trial  and  error.  Nature  aims 
only  at  success,  and  success  is  secured  through  the  indefinite  multi- 
plication of  chances.1  The  alleged  economy  of  nature  is  reduced 
to  the  fact  that  in  the  nature  of  things  the  genetic  method  can  only 
evolve  products  adapted  to  the  conditions  of  existence  and  therefore 
potentially  successful.  The  failure  of  the  greater  number  is  due  to 
the  physical  impossibility  that  all  shall  survive,  and  competition 
decides  the  fate  of  the  less  adapted.  All  genetic  processes  are  char- 
acterized by  this  same  prodigality.  Everything  accomplished  by 
nature  is  uneconomical.  If  we  can  apply  that  term  to  inorganic 
nature  it  is  the  same  there.  Nature's  operations  are  characterized 
by  irregularity.  Nothing  is  perfect.  This  aspect  was  considered 
in  Chapter  V,  arid  this  it  is  which  the  modern  mind  regards  as 
beautiful.  It  is  the  shapelessness  of  natural  objects,  such  as 
a  cloud,  a  landscape,  a  coast  line,  or  a  mountain  range  that  we 
admire.  It  is  true  that  there  is  order  in  it  if  we  can  grasp  a  large 
enough  mass  and  overlook  the  details,  but  seen  in  its  entirety  the 
world  of  nature  is  amorphous.  This  heterogeneity  is  chiefly  caused 
by  the  two  laws  of  the  instability  of  the  homogeneous  and  the 
multiplication  of  effects,  or  better  perhaps,  the  exaggeration  of 
effects.  Change  in  a  given  direction,  instead  of  tending  to  right 
itself,  tends  to  produce  greater  change  in  the  same  direction,  until 
all  symmetry  is  lost.  This  will  go  on  until  some  other  influence 

1 1  formulated  the  law  of  biologic  economics  in  1892  in  my  address  to  the  Section 
of  Economic  Science  and  Statistics  of  the  American  Association  for  the  advancement 
of  Science  at  its  Rochester  Meeting.  See  the  Proceedings,  Vol.  XLI,  pp.  301-321; 
also  published  in  a  somewhat  condensed  form  in  the  Annals  of  the  American  Academy 
of  Political  and  Social  Science,  Vol.  Ill,  January,  1893,  pp.  464-482.  In  a  much  ex- 
panded form  this  general  discussion  constitutes  Chapter  XXXIII  of  the  "  Psychic  Fac- 
tors of  Civilization,"  1893.  Professor  Huxley  in  his  "  Prolegomena  "  (1894)  to 
"Evolution  and  Ethics"  (Romanes  Lecture,  1893)  struck  the  same  note,  and  his  con- 
clusions are  the  same  as  mine.  In  fact  the  discussion  here  follows  the  same  lines  as 
my  address  and  differs  chiefly  in  the  illustrations.  See  "  Collected  Essays,"  Vol.  IX. 


470  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

unrelated  to  the  first  puts  a  check  upon  it.  This  usually  produces 
a  different  kind  of  irregularity  and  complicates  the  process.  There 
are  certain  great  laws  that  must  be  conformed  to.  For  example, 
water  from  a  higher  level  must  ultimately  find  a  lower  level  and 
eventually  the  lowest  possible  level,  but  the  course  it  will  pursue  in 
doing  this  will  have  the  utmost  irregularity.  Hence  the  sinuous 
course  of  rivers,  in  which  every  drop  of  water  usually  travels  at 
least  twice,  often  many  times  as  far  as  the  actual  distance  from  the 
source  to  the  mouth  of  the  river.  Every  deviation  from  a  straight 
course  increases  the  tendency  to  deviate  still  further,  and  this  goes 
on  until  some  insurmountable  obstacle  is  encountered,  when  some 
other  oblique  course  is  taken  and  the  same  effects  are  repeated,  and 
so  on  to  the  end. 

Organic  phenomena  obey  the  same  uneconomical  laws,  and  thus 
all  the  strange  and  hideous  denizens  of  the  earth  are  thrust  into 
existence  —  vermin  of  all  horrid  shapes,  toads,  lizards,  Jurassic 
dragons  (Dinosaurs),  the  monsters  of  the  sea  and  of  the  land,  even 
the  huge  ungainly  mastodons,  elephants,  walruses,  and  whales,  along 
of  course  with  more  shapely  and  many  truly  beautiful  creatures. 
All  these  are  only  a  few  "  favored "  forms  wrought  at  enormous 
expense  and  involving  infinite  sacrifice  of  life  and  energy.  But  it 
matters  nothing,  as  the  resources  of  nature  are  infinite.  Such  is  the 
economy  of  nature,  which  is  simply  the  absence  of  all  economy. 

The  only  true  economy  is  telic.  Only  mind  knows  how  to  econo- 
mize. Economy  is  only  possible  through  prevision.  Mind  sees  the 
end  and  pursues  it.  Still  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  it  pursues  it 
directly,  or  in  a  straight  line.  Indirection,  as  we  have  seen,  is  its 
essence.  But  it  pursues  it  effectively.  Only  the  irrational  seek 
their  ends  directly,  but  they  fail  to  attain  them.  True  economy 
harnesses  the  forces  of  nature  and  simply  guides  them  to  the  fore- 
seen end.  "Science,  d'oii  pr&voyance;  prtvoyance,  d'oft,  action."1 
Knowledge  gives  foresight,  and  foresight  dictates  the  proper  steps. 
In  telic  action  there  is  no  waste,  or  at  least  the  waste  is  reduced  to 
the  minimum  for  the  given  state  of  any  science,  with  the  prospect 
of  progressive  reduction  as  the  science  and  skill  advance.  Artificial 
watercourses  are  straight,  or  as  nearly  so  as  comports  with  the 
maximum  economy.  Schiaparelli  rightly  maintained  that  the  rec- 
tilinear form  of  the  "canals"  on  the  surface  of  the  planet  Mars, 
1  Auguste  Comte,  "  Philosophic  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  p.  51. 


CH.  xvi]  THE  METHOD   OF  MIND  471 

indicate  d,  priori  the  work  of  intelligent  beings.  It  is  only  their 
great  size  and  the  extraordinary  labor  involved  in  their  construction 
that  staggers  the  observer.  But  Mars  may  have  been  inhabited 
by  beings  as  advanced  as  the  leading  races  of  our  planet  for  half 
a  million  years,  and  when  we  consider  the  transformations  that  man 
has  made  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  in  a  few  thousand  years,  for 
the  most  part  during  two  or  three  centuries,  we  can  only  imagine 
what  he  will  do  in  the  next  ten  thousand  or  hundred  thousand  years. 
We  are  utterly  incapable  of  grasping  such  possibilities. 

Noetic  phenomena  are  far  more  rapid  than  genetic.  We  need  not 
go  back  to  the  lifeless  world  building  and  rock  building  of  the  inor- 
ganic world,  but  compare  the  development  of  a  floral  organ  or  of  a 
fin,  a  foot,  or  a  wing.  Take  the  paleontological  record  of  any  well- 
known  line,  even  one  as  modern  as  the  horse.  It  has  taken  at  least 
five  million  years  to  unite  the  five  digits  of  Eohippus  into  the  one 
solid  digit  or  hoof  of  the  horse.  It  requires  millions  of  years  to 
produce  an  organic  structure.  Social  structures,  even  the  purely 
genetic  ones,  grow,  evolve,  and  change  far  more  rapidly  than  organic 
structures.  But  telic  structures  are  comparatively  of  mushroom 
growth.  How  brief  is  the  life  of  the  factory,  the  steamship,  the  rail- 
way, the  telegraph,  the  telephone,  the  bicycle  (already  in  its  dotage), 
the  automobile!  Yet  most  of  these  are  giants,  and  if  they  do 
not  stay  it  will  be  because  a  superior  substitute  will  take  their 
places.  The  law  of  telic  phenomena  seems  to  be  a  geometrical 
progression,  every  new  structure  breeding  a  brood  of  younger  and 
better  ones. 

Such  is  the  method  of  mind,  and  in  its  upward  reaches  it  attains 
enormous  complexity.  It  is  said  that  intellectual  operations  cannot 
be  predicted.  Still  they  are  subject  to  a  few  of  the  most  general 
laws.  But  they  have  in  the  later  stages  of  social  evolution  come  to 
constitute  so  large  a  factor  that  they  have  wholly  frustrated  the 
plans  of  the  political  economists  who  refused  to  reckon  with  them. 
Sociology  must  not  make  this  mistake,  and  all  systems  that  ignore 
the  directive  agent  are  doomed  to  the  same  failure  that  has  attended 
the  political  economy  that  was  based  on  the  "  economic  man."  Both 
economics  and  sociology  have  a  psychologic  basis,  but  that  basis  is 
as  broad  as  mind  itself.  Not  only  must  all  the  interests  of  men, 
including  their  cerebral  interests,  be  recognized,  but  the  faculties 
upon  which  the  highest  types  of  men  chiefly  rely  for  the  certain 


472  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

success  of  those  interests  —  the  objective  faculties — must  be  equally 
recognized  and  thoroughly  understood. 

IDEA  FORCES 

Well  and  wisely  did  Bacon  say  that  "  truth  is  more  easily  extri- 
cated from  error  than  from  confusion."  It  has  ever  been  the  bane 
of  the  science  of  mind  that  mental  phenomena  that  are  generically 
distinct  and  not  even  commensurable  have  been  perpetually  and  in- 
extricably jumbled  together.  This  has  been  especially  the  case  with 
subjective  and  objective  phenomena,  which  as  we  have  seen  belong 
to  two  totally  different  orders  of  things.  The  expression  idea  forces 
(idtes-forces)  represents  one  of  these  psychological  jumbles,  and  is 
equivalent  to  the  expression  rudder-propulsion.  The  human  mind 
sees  certain  effects  of  compound  and  combined  forces  and  agencies, 
and  without  even  attempting  to  analyze  the  complex  conditions 
ascribes  these  effects  to  some  one  of  the  conditions.  In  this  expres- 
sion this  is  what  is  done,  and  it  happens  that  the  particular  condition 
to  which  the  effects  are  attributed  is  not  even  a  dynamic  agency, 
motor  principle,  or  force  in  any  sense  of  the  word.  This  lack  of 
analysis  has  always  characterized  the  philosophy  of  mind,  and 
modern  psychology  is  far  from  being  free  from  it.  The  logicians  of 
all  men,  like  Hegel  and  Hamilton,  are  the  ones  who  have  introduced 
the  most  illogical  elements  and  caused  the  greatest  confusion ;  as, 
for  example,  such  an  expression  as  "the  thinking  will,"  when  in  fact 
the  will  cannot  think,  and  the  faculty  of  thought  cannot  will. 

What  then  can  idea  forces  be  ?  What  do  the  authors  who  use  the 
expression  mean  by  it  ?  Nearly  all  aphoristic  or  epigrammatic  ex- 
pressions are  literally  incorrect.  They  usually  involve  an  ellipsis, 
and  will  not  bear  strict  analysis.  We  should  not  be  too  critical  of 
them  and  pedantically  exact.  Bacon's  saying  that  "  knowledge  itself 
is  a  power,"1  now  a  proverb,  and  in  fact  found  in  Proverbs  (xxiv.  5), 
is  such  an  elliptical  expression,  as  is  also  that  other  proverb  that 

1 "  Meditationes  sacrae :  Of  Heresies."  "  Works,"  Philadelphia,  1844,  Vol.  I,  p.  71. 
Edmond  About  puts  the  same  idea  in  the  following  form  :  "  The  history  of  civiliza- 
tion may  be  summarized  in  nine  words  :  the  more  one  knows,  the  more  one  can 
perform,"  "  Handbook  of  Social  Economy,  or,  the  Worker's  A  B  C,"  by  Ed- 
mond About  (translated  from  the  last  French  edition),  New  York,  1873,  p.  29.  The 
original  French  is  still  more  brief  and  epigrammatic  :  "  L'histoire  de  la  civilisation 
pent  se  resumer  en  six  mots  :  plus  on  sait,  plus  on  peut,"  "  A  B  C  du  Travailleur," 
par  Edmond  About,  deuxieme  edition,  Paris,  1869,  p.  39. 


CH.  xvi]  IDEA   FORCES  473 

"  ideas  rule  the  world." l  Johnson  ventured  a  correction  of  Bacon's 
aphorism  when  he  said  that  "  knowledge  is  more  than  equivalent  to 
force,"  2  which  brings  it  into  line  with  the  phrase  that  I  have  used, 
metaphorically,  in  this  chapter,  that  "thought  is  the  sum  of  all 
forces,"  but  which  I  long  ago  more  accurately  framed  in  saying  that 
"  the  final  cause  is  not  itself  a  cause,  it  is  the  appropriation  of  all 
causes."  8  I  have  therefore  no  objection  to  the  use  of  these  compre- 
hensive metaphors,  even  in  scientific  discussions,  if  only  it  does  not 
result  in  the  confusion  of  ideas. 

Let  us  have  idea  forces,  then,  but  let  us  explain  their  psychologi- 
cal significance.  Besides  the  general  fact  already  brought  out  in 
dealing  with  final  causes,  that  ideas  do  really  appropriate  and  util- 
ize for  man  all  the  forces  of  nature  that  he  thoroughly  understands, 
there  is  a  more  specific  ground  for  the  claim  to  the  existence  of  idea 
forces.  The  social  forces,  as  I  have  so  constantly  insisted  and  so 
thoroughly  demonstrated  in  Part  II,  consist  of  the  whole  volume  of 
man's  affective  nature,  but  man,  who  even  at  the  outset  was  a 
rational  being,  and  who  has  steadily  grown  more  rational  during  the 
whole  course  of  his  history,  differs  from  animals  in  possessing  two 
sources  of  feeling.  This  could  not  be  set  forth  in  the  treatment  of 
the  dynamic  agent  without  anticipating  considerations  that  belong 
here  and  could  only  be  properly  urged  in  connection  with  the  direc- 
tive agent.  All  sentient  beings  have  internal  as  well  as  external 
feelings,  and  the  emotions,  which  are  essentially  internal,  constitute 
everywhere  the  more  powerful  motives  to  action.  But  in  a  rational 
"being,  and  especially  in  a  being  that  has  acquired  a  store  of  ideas 
in  the  manner  described  in  the  early  part  of  this  chapter,  there  is  a 
large  class  of  feelings,  indeed  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the  most 
important  feelings  that  inspire  action,  which  arise  from  ideas  and 
not  from  external  sense  impressions,  and  to  which  no  sense  im- 
pressions could  directly  give  rise.  Suppose  a  man  receives  a  tele- 
gram announcing  the  death  by  accident  of  a  child  of  his  in  another 
state  or  another  country.  He  does  not  see  the  child.  All  he  sees 
is  a  bit  of  paper  with  some  markings  on  it.  But  his  soul  is  stirred 
to  its  very  depths  and  he  instantly  acts  according  to  the  circum- 
stances. Such  actions,  and  the  life  of  every  enlightened  person  is 

1  Cf.  Comte,  "  Philosophie  Positive,"  Vol.  I,  p.  40. 

2  Samuel  Johnson,  "The  History  of  Rasselas,"  Chapter  XIII. 
»  The  Monist,  Vol.  V,  January,  1895,  p.  263. 


474  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

chiefly  made  up  of  them,  are  called  idea-motor  actions.  It  is  not  that 
the  true  force  is  not  a  feeling.  Such  feelings  are  the  most  intense 
and  powerful  of  all,  but  they  arise  from  knowledge  in  the  mind, 
which  is  not  feeling,  but  which  arouses  feeling.  Such  feelings  are 
idea  forces,  and  with  this  simple  explanation  the  term  ceases  to  be 
objectionable,  and  is  in  fact  upon  the  whole  useful. 

It  is  thus  that  mind  in  the  restricted  sense  of  the  intellect  or 
rational  faculty,  although  not  a  force  in  any  scientific  sense  of  the 
word,  becomes  a  factor,  and  this  is  what  I  have  had  in  mind  in 
speaking  of  "  mind  as  a  social  factor."1  It  has  been  working  through 
all  the  ages  and  at  all  the  stages  of  culture  that  were  passed  in 
review  in  Part  II,  and  now  we  have  only  to  go  over  all  this  long 
career  of  mankind  and  supply  this  factor  at  each  stage  and  estimate 
its  probable  influence.  This  influence  at  length  began  to  make 
itself  strongly  felt,  and  as  we  have  seen,  intellectual  phenomena 
advance  by  a  geometrical  progression,  so  that  it  is  the  latest  stages 
that  show  their  impress  in  the  most  marked  degree.  This  factor  of 
direction,  quite  as  much  as  the  factor  of  propulsion,  deserves  to  be 
accounted  for,  and  to  this  task  we  shall  next  turn  our  attention. 

1 ' '  Mind  as  a  Social  Factor, ' '  Mind,  a  Quarterly  Journal  of  Psychology  and  Philoso- 
phy, London,  Vol.  IX,  No.  36,  October,  1884,  pp.  563-673. 


CHAPTER   XVII 


THE  thesis  of  this  chapter  is  that  the  intellect  is  primarily  an 
advantageous  faculty  and  came  into  existence  through  the  action  of 
natural  selection  or  the  survival  of  the  fittest  in  the  struggle  for 
existence.  If  so  it  is  of  biologic  origin.  The  biologic  origin  of  the 
feeling  side  of  mind  was  the  subject  of  Chapter  VII.  It  was  there 
shown  that  a  few  authors  had  recognized  this,  but  no  one  had  thor- 
oughly analyzed  the  process.  Thus  far,  however,  no  one  to  my 
knowledge  has  admitted  the  biologic  origin  of  the  thought  side  of 
mind  or  attempted  to  account  for  the  intellect  on  natural  principles. 
My  own  essay  in  this  direction,  constituting  Part  II  of  the  "  Psychic 
Factors  of  Civilization  "  and  occupying  more  than  a  hundred  pages, 
or  about  one-third  of  the  work,  after  an  interval  of  ten  years  still 
remains  unique.  The  present  chapter  can  be  scarcely  more  than  a 
condensation  of  that  essay  into  much  smaller  space.  I  certainly 
have  not  changed  my  attitude  on  the  subject,  and  the  complete 
absence  of  discussion  or  even  criticism  has  prevented  me  from 
advancing  much  beyond  the  point  where  I  left  it.  I  scarcely  need 
insist  that  until  the  objective  faculties  are  accounted  for  on  natural 
principles  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  science  of  psychology.  Those 
who  fail  thus  to  account  for  them  and  still  talk  of  the  "  science  of 
mind  "  are  wholly  inconsistent.  There  is  no  science  of  what  is  un- 
accountable. They  might  as  well  talk  of  the  science  of  ghosts  or  of 
witchcraft  as  of  the  science  of  mind  unless  mind  be  recognized  as  a 
natural  reality,  and  demonology  is  as  good  a  science  as  psychology 
so  long  as  the  object  of  the  latter  is  as  much  a  phantom  as  that  of 
the  former. 

GENESIS  OP  MIND 

In  the  last  chapter  the  nature  of  objective  mind  was  considered 
from  a  logical  standpoint  with  a  view  to  understanding  the  psy- 
chologic process  in  the  individual  mind.  That  form  of  treatment 
might  also  be  called  ontogenetic.  We  are  now  to  consider  it  from  a 
chronological,  historical,  or  genetic  standpoint,  which  may  be  looked 

475 


476  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

upon  as  phylogenetic.  The  ontogenetic  process  or  life  history  of  a 
thought  recapitulates  in  some  sense  the  history  of  development  of 
thought,  though  the  connection  between  the  two  processes  should 
not  probably  be  insisted  upon  as  causal.  I  have  frequently  spoken 
of  the  subjective  and  objective  faculties  as  constituting  the  two 
great  branches  of  mind  in  its  full  sense.  It  would  have  been  better, 
and  even  more  scientifically  correct,  to  regard  the  objective  faculties 
as  a  branch  of  the  subjective  considered  as  the  main  trunk.  This  is 
what  Schopenhauer  did,  typifying  the  latter  as  the  will,  which  we 
saw  in  Chapter  VIII  to  be  entirely  permissible.  For  the  intellect, 
as  he  maintained,  is  a  relatively  modern  product,  and  he  was  also 
right  in  asserting  that  the  will  produced  the  intellect.1  •.  The  objec- 
tive faculties  grew  out  of  the  subjective.  He  was  right  again  in  say- 
ing that  the  intellect  was  secondary  in  point  of  importance  as  well 
as  of  time.  It  was  at  first  only  ancillary,  a  servant  of  the  will,  a 
means  to  the  attainment  of  the  end  of  the  feeling  being.  Its  pur- 
pose was  not  to  restrain  and  curb  desire  but  to  lead  it  to  success. 
It  was  one  of  those  extra-normal  and  unintended  products,  of  which 
we  have  already  met  with  so  many,  having  no  true  place  in  the 
scheme  of  nature,  which  is  organized  solely  in  the  interest  of  func- 
tion. The  intellect  is  therefore  a  typical  epiphenomenon. 

Notwithstanding,  therefore,  the  extraordinary  role  that  the  study 
of  mind  in  this  sense  has  played  in  the  history  of  philosophy,  it  has 
all  been  about  a  sort  of  "  accident "  that  came  into  the  world  at  a 
late  and  comparatively  modern  date,  was  not  wanted  nor  welcomed, 
and  for  the  greater  part  of  its  career  held  the  position  of  vassal  to 
that  feudal  lord,  the  will,  which  it  not  only  served  in  abject  sub- 
mission, but,  as  we  shall  see,  did  not  hesitate  to  stoop  to  acts  of 
the  meanest  class  and  do  the  henchman's  work  of  dark  deeds  and 
sinister  practices.  In  short,  it  ministered  to  those  very  passions 
which  the  panegyrists  of  mind  have  always  held  too  base  to  deserve 
a  place  in  any  scheme  of  philosophy.  The  reason  why  these 
philosophers  did  not  see  this  is  that  they  never  studied  the  true 
intellect,  the  trunk  and  souche  of  the  mind,  but  only  certain  of  its 
later  derivative  branches  that  had  lost  most  of  the  character  of  the 
parent  faculty  and  formed  a  sort  of  excrescence  or  efflorescence 
whose  brilliancy  and  ostentatious  charms  attracted  and  monopolized 
their  attention,  completely  obscuring  its  true  origin. 

1  "  Ueber  den  Willen  in  der  Natur,"  4th  edition,  Leipzig,  1878,  p.  39  (footnote). 


CH.  xvn]  INDIFFERENT  SENSATION  477 

Indifferent  Sensation.  —  In  the  last  chapter  the  importance  of  the 
two  kinds  of  sensation,  intensive  and  indifferent,  was  insisted  upon, 
and  it  was  pointed  out  that  the  latter  is  generically  distinct  from 
the  former  and  is  probably  the  effect  of  the  existence  of  a  separate 
class  of  nerves  specialized  exclusively  for  the  purpose  of  conveying 
to  the  mind  notions  of  the  properties  of  objects.  It  now  requires 
to  be  noted  that  this  specialization  constitutes  the  initial  step  in 
the  genesis  of  the  objective  faculties.  The  lowest  sentient  beings 
are  destitute  of  it  and  really  have  no  need  of  any  but  intensive 
sensations,  leading  them  to  what  is  good  for  them  and  driving  them 
away  from  what  is  injurious,  i.e.,  they  only  need  to  know  the  quali- 
ties of  objects.  But  very  early  it  becomes  advantageous  to  a 
creature,  independently  of  pleasure  or  pain,  to  gain  a  notion  of 
the  properties  of  certain  leading  constituents  of  its  environment. 
Purely  aquatic  beings  have  less  need  of  this  because  their  medium 
is  nearly  homogeneous,  but  even  life  on  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
lake,  or  river,  presents  a  certain  degree  of  heterogeneity,  and 
although  the  irregularities  there  met  with  may  not  tend  to  injure 
them,  still  success  in  procuring  food  and  escaping  enemies  will  be 
increased  by  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  nature  of  their  environ- 
ment. This  advantage  is  seized  upon  by  the  principle  of  natural 
selection  and  those  forms  that  acquire  the  power  of  discrimination 
among  the  objects  with  which  they  come  in  contact  have  their 
chances  of  survival  increased  and  ultimately  survive  while  the 
other  class  die  out.  Now  it  is  clear  that  mere  intensive  sensation 
would  not  accomplish  this  object.  It  would  not  enable  them  to 
avoid  danger  by  making  a  detour  or  to  seek  food  by  pursuing  an 
irregular  course.  In  fact,  under  the  influence  of  intensive  sensation 
alone  there  could  be  no  interval  between  the  organism  and  the 
source  of  pleasure  or  pain,  between  the  body  and  its  food  or  its 
enemy.  Causation  here  would  be  of  the  strictly  genetic  type,  in 
which,  as  we  saw,  cause  and  effect  must  be  in  immediate  contact. 
It  is  so  with  the  plant,  with  the  polyp,  sea-lily,  sponge,  and  other 
fixed  animals,  and  also  with  Protozoans  that  simply  absorb  nutri- 
ment from  their  media. 

Intuition.  — The  simple  power  of  beholding  objects,  I  do  not  mean 
necessarily  through  an  organ  of  sight,  it  may  be  only  tactual,  I  call 
intuition,  and  hold  it  to  be  the  primordial  advantageous  substrate 
of  the  objective  mind.  Its  importance  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 


478  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

organs  for  this  purpose  are  developed  in  so  many  very  low  organ- 
isms. They  are  not  eyes  at  first,  but  sensitized  areas,  or  specialized 
ends  of  tentacles,  both  of  which  ultimately  become  eyes.  With  the 
initial  development  of  objective  feeling  —  feeling  that  is  neither 
good  nor  evil,  but  simply  acquaints  —  the  creature  begins  to  explore 
its  environment.  Life  becomes  a  series  of  more  or  less  random 
trials.  It  is  the  stage  of  exploration  or  tentative  stage.  This 
initial  faculty  might  be  called  tentation.  The  sea  is  the  mother  of 
all  life,  and  no  one  knows  how  long  there  was  life  in  the  sea  before 
the  appearance  of  land  animals.  Paleontology  teaches  the  long 
priority  of  marine  life.  In  the  Lower  Silurian,  and  still  more  in 
the  Cambrian,  the  waters  were  probably  much  warmer  than  they 
have  ever  been  since,  even  in  the  tropics,  and  the  internal  heat  of 
the  earth  doubtless  contributed  largely  to  this  increased  tempera- 
ture. But  long  before  any  of  the  forms  were  developed  that 
possessed  parts  capable  of  preservation  in  a  fossil  state  there 
must  have  been  myriads  of  soft,  jelly-like  organisms,  protozoan 
in  structure,  and  probably  for  the  most  part  microscopic  or  very 
minute.  There  may  have  been  colonies  of  such,  polyzoans,  and 
even  true  metazoans  having  such  perishable  structures,  no  trace 
of  whose  existence  is  preserved.  One  of  the  strongest  arguments 
for  the  absolutely  monophyletic  character  of  all  life  is  the  proba- 
bility that  life  originated  under  higher  temperatures  than  anywhere 
prevail  at  the  present  time.  This  was  in  the  sea  where  all  the 
chemical  conditions  of  life  are  found  together,  and  as  this  was  true 
for  nearly  the  whole  of  the  earth's  surface,  the  continents  having  as 
yet  scarcely  been  formed,  we  may  well  conceive  that  somewhere 
there  would  exist  all  the  conditions  for  the  origin  of  life. 

Even  in  the  Cambrian  creatures  as  high  as  Trilobites  were  devel- 
oped, and  before  the  close  of  the  Devonian  the  seas  swarmed  with 
fishes ;  i.e.,  the  vertebrate  type  had  been  fully  formed.  But  land 
animals  soon  came  on,  and  here  higher  psychic  powers  were  needed. 
Still,  throughout  all  geologic  ages,  and  in  the  existing  condition  of 
the  earth,  there  have  always  been  humble  aquatic  creatures,  both 
marine  and  fresh  water,  whose  lives  are  spent  practically  in  the 
groping,  exploring,  tentative  stage  of  activity.  The  only  rudiment 
of  a  rational  faculty  that  they  possess  is  this  faculty  of  tentation,  or 
the  somewhat  more  developed  power  of  intuition,  by  which  they  dis- 
tinguish good  from  evil,  food  from  enemies,  and  which  at  least  guides 


CH.  xvn]  PERCEPTION  479 

their  movements  in  the  direction  toward  the  former  and  from  the 
latter.  It  is  not  the  highly  developed  intuition  of  the  old  philoso- 
phers, much  less  the  Anschauung  of  Kant,  but  the  simplest  of  all 
forms  of  awareness  applied  to  the  most  practical  of  objects. 

Perception.  —  We  have  already  seen  that  objective  feeling  leads  to 
perception.  This  is  the  only  source  of  a  knowledge  of  properties, 
while  subjective  feeling  reveals  only  qualities.  But  the  primordial 
mind  did  not  analyze  the  properties  of  objects.  It  used  this  faculty 
solely  for  practical  purposes,  and  the  properties  possessed  by  the 
irregularities  of  the  sea-bottom  or  of  the  surface  of  the  land  in  case  of 
terrestrial  beings  only  concerned  such  beings  in  so  far  as  they  facili- 
tated or  obstructed  the  pursuit  of  food  and  mates.  The  properties, 
if  we  may  call  them  such,  that  contributed  to  these  ends  were  exist- 
ence, i.e.,  presence,  magnitude,  position,  distance,  direction,  number, 
etc.,  all  of  which  were  determinants  of  the  ability  of  the  organism  to 
attain  its  ends  and  to  escape  destruction.  Most  of  these  properties 
are  simply  relations,  but  they  are  relations  among  material  objects 
having  permanence,  hardness,  resistance,  impenetrability,  and  for 
such  creatures  immovability.  They  must  be  avoided,  surmounted, 
circumnavigated,  or  got  around  in  some  way,  and  the  action  or  move- 
ments necessary  to  accomplish  this  could  not  be  performed  without 
the  power  of  perceiving  these  relations  and  adjusting  activities  ac- 
cordingly. Hence  the  primitive  advantageous  form  of  perception 
was  the  perception  of  relations,  and  the  faculty  of  perception  was 
developed  through  the  elimination  of  those  that  failed  thus  to  "  take 
in"  their  situation  and  the  survival  of  those  that  succeeded  in 
taking  it  in. 

This  form  of  perception  may  be  distinguished  as  intuitive  percep- 
tion. It  is  strictly  egoistic,  and  although  an  objective  faculty,  it  is 
intimately  connected  with  subjective  needs.  In  fact,  it  exists  only 
for  its  subjective  value  in  better  preparing  its  possessor  to  attain 
its  subjective  ends.  It  is  a  clear  example  both  of  the  impossibility 
of  any  faculty  coming  into  existence  unless  it  be  thus  advantageous, 
and  also  of  how  the  most  exalted  attributes  may  have  a  humble  and 
a  simple  origin.  Intuitive  perception  does  not  differ  essentially 
from  the  perception  of  the  psychologists,  and  it  contains  all  the  ele- 
ments in  their  germ. 

Reason.  —  Like  every  other  faculty,  reason  began  as  an  advanta- 
geous faculty.  Otherwise  it  could  not  have  begun.  But  the  primor- 


480  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

dial  reason  was  not  the  Vernunft  of  Kant  any  more  than  the 
primordial  intuition  was  his  Anschauung.  Neither  of  the  latter  is 
advantageous  in  the  biological  sense.  It  may  sound  like  a  contra- 
diction of  terms  to  say  that  while  animals  have  reason  they  are  not 
rational  beings.  Yet  the  popular  use  of  the  words  reason  and 
rational  is  such  as  to  make  the  statement  correct.  Animal  reasoning 
is  intuitive,  i.e.,  it  is  synthetic.  It  is  not  an  analysis,  a  syllogism, 
an  enthymeme.  It  is,  as  it  were,  seeing  or  intuiting  a  conclusion. 
Its  elements  are  simple.  They  are  the  perceptions  that  were  last 
enumerated.  Having  perceived  the  properties  and  relations  they 
now  see,  behold,  or  intuit  what  follows  from  a  comparison  or 
putting  together  of  several  of  them.  This  they  do  when  it  concerns 
some  interest  and  only  then.  Intuitive  reason  is  egocentric.  It  is 
only  exercised  when  useful,  when  it  secures  some  end,  when  it  leads 
to  the  satisfaction  of  desire  or  to  the  avoidance  of  danger.  It  is  not 
deliberative.  It  is  instantaneous.  Of  course  it  is  only  the  higher 
animals  that  manifest  this  faculty  in  any  marked  degree.  In  most 
of  them  it  is  intimately  connected  with  instinct,  which  for  those 
that  cannot  reason  at  all  serves  the  same  purpose  but  stops  at  a 
much  lower  point.  This  close  relation  of  instinct  with  reason  is  the 
basis  for  the  prevailing  idea  that  instinct  has  its  foundations  in  rea- 
son. This  is  a  complex  question.  Natural  selection  doubtless 
creates  many  instincts  by  seizing  upon  fortuitous  variations  in  the 
advantageous  direction,  but  it  may  also  happen  that  a  faint  ray  of 
reason  may  furnish  a  slight  impetus  to  variation  in  such  a  direction 
rather  than  in  another.  This  would  make  reason  in  part  the  basis 
of  instinct.  Most  of  the  evidence  for  reasoning  in  animals  is  anec- 
dotal and  worthless.  It  proves  too  much  and  proves  nothing.  I 
have  often  heard  highly  intelligent  qualities  ascribed  to  horses,  when 
it  was  evident  that  they  were  all  in  the  "  breaking."  The  intelli- 
gence was  in  the  men  who  "  broke "  the  horses.  All  claims  to 
rational  actions  on  the  part  of  animals  that  cannot  be  shown  to  be 
the  result  of  hereditary  intuitive  reasoning  in  the  interest  of  the  sur- 
vival of  the  species  are  to  be  discredited.  But  reasoning  of  this 
kind,  in  such  animals,  for  example,  as  the  fox,  is  often  exceedingly 
acute.  In  matters  of  interest  animals  may  be  almost  unerring  in 
their  conclusions.  Even  in  men  it  has  been  universally  observed 
that  reasoning  is  much  more  accurate  when  interests  are  involved 
than  in  indifferent  cases.  Dealers  rarely  make  mistakes  against 


CH.  xvn]  INDIRECTION  481 

themselves.  An  illiterate  person  who  knows  nothing  of  arithmetic 
will  know  it  if  underpaid  for  work.  This  is  intuitive  reasoning 
sharpened  by  the  spur  of  interest.  All  reasoning  was  originally  of 
this  kind  and  the  more  developed  forms  and  refinements  of  the 
rational  faculty  and  reasoning  process  have  grown  out  of  this  pri- 
mordial trunk,  ignored  by  the  schools. 

Intuitive  reason  is  essentially  active  and  aggressive,  and  hence 
dynamic  and  progressive.  It  seeks  change,  improvement,  and  a 
state  of  things  better  and  higher  than  the  actual  state.  But  there  is 
a  form  of  mental  operation  which  may  be  called  reason,  and  which 
certainly  is  intuitive,  apparently  the  reverse  of  this.  It  is  passive 
and  defensive,  and  does  not  seek  change  or  betterment,  but  simply 
the  maintenance  of  the  existing  status.  It  is  the  conservative  ele- 
ment of  mind.  I  called  it  "intuitive  judgment,"  but  it  is  not  judg- 
ment in  the  psychologic  sense  of  the  mere  recognition  of  the 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  registered  percepts  and  concepts.  If 
called  judgment  the  word  must  be  taken  in  something  like  its  popu- 
lar sense.  This  faculty  is  quite  as  necessary  as  the  active  reason, 
since  any  being  is  usually  in  a  state  at  which  it  can  subsist,  and  it  is 
often  more  important  to  "  let  well  enough  alone  "  than  to  disturb 
existing  conditions  in  the  hope  of  securing  something  better.  If 
reason  be  called  positive  this  faculty  must  be  called  negative.  It  is 
the  steering  apparatus  of  the  negative  or  protective  social  forces 
treated  in  Chapters  XII  and  XIII,  just  as  reason  is  the  steering  ap- 
paratus of  the  positive  social  forces.  Keason  discovers  a  free  chan- 
nel or  current  through  which  the  dynamic  agent  can  proceed,  while 
judgment  in  this  sense  discovers  a  safe  harbor  where  dangerous 
winds  cannot  destroy  the  frail  craft  of  existence.  The  two  faculties 
are  respectively  typical  of  the  male  and  female  natures,  and  although 
both  sexes  \ise  both,  still  women  make  far  more  use  relatively  of  the 
second  than  men,  and  what  is  called  "  woman's  intuition  " a  is  noth- 
ing else.  We  thus  seem  to  have  two  great  coordinate  psychic 
trunks,  the  positive,  initiative,  aggressive,  and  dynamic,  male  trunk, 
and  the  negative,  passive,  defensive,  and  protective,  female  trunk  — 
reason  and  judgment. 

Indirection.  —  We  have  seen  that  the  directive  agent  is  a  final 

1  The  subject  of  woman's  intuition  has  been  so  abundantly  discussed  that  it  seems 
needless  to  refer  to  the  literature.    Grant  Allen's  article  so  entitled  and  my  reply  tc 
it  were  referred  to  in  Chapter  XIV  (see  supra,  p.  298). 
2i 


482  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

cause  and  that  a  final  cause  is  the  utilization  of  means  to  an  end. 
We  have  now  to  note  that  this  always  involves  indirection.  This 
would  follow  from  the  definition  of  a  final  cause,  since  in  no  case 
does  the  agent  act  in  the  direction  of  the  force  he  is  to  utilize. 
Usually  his  action  is  in  an  entirely  different  direction,  often  in  the 
opposite  direction,  and  it  never  has  the  least  relation  or  resemblance 
to  the  action  of  the  force.  The  intuitive  reason  goes  out  in  all 
directions.  Its  earliest  manifestations  must  have  been  in  connec- 
tion with  the  environment  in  overcoming  obstacles  to  the  pursuit  of 
food  and  mates  and  the  accomplishment  of  the  ends  of  nature,  nutri- 
tion and  reproduction,  i.e.,  in  the  preservation  and  continuance  of 
the  species.  For  all  organisms  that  derive  their  subsistence  wholly 
from  vegetation  this  practically  holds  throughout  the  series,  but  as 
many  even  very  low  animals  are  predatory  and  depend  mainly  or 
wholly  on  other  animals  for  subsistence,  a  radical  difference  arises 
in  the  nature  of  the  objects  of  pursuit  and  in  the  properties  and 
forces  that  the  directive  agent  must  utilize  in  securing  the  ends  of 
the  organism.  As  all  organisms  are  supposed  to  have  feeling  and  to 
suffer  pain  in  being  seized  and  devoured  by  other  creatures,  there 
arises  in  the  case  of  predatory  subsistence  what  may  be  called  a 
moral  element.  The  animals  preyed  upon  seek  to  escape  from  their 
natural  enemies  and  the  difficulty  in  procuring  subsistence  on  the 
part  of  the  predatory  species  is  increased.  In  the  animal  of  course 
there  is  no  moral  sense  and  no  sympathy  with  suffering,  and  the  act 
of  preying  can  only  be  classed  among  those  having  attached  to  them 
a  moral  quality  by  expanding  the  ethical  conception  to  embrace  all 
sentient  creatures.  But  if  ethics  is  to  be  made  a  science  this  must 
be  done,  since  the  line  between  beings  having  a  moral  sense  and 
beings  destitute  of  any  such  sense  could  never  be  found.  It  may 
therefore  be  said  that  the  directive  agent  applied  to  sentient  beings 
in  utilizing  and  exploiting  them  to  the  advantage  of  the  one  and  to 
the  injury  of  the  other  organism,  is  essentially  immoral. 

There  is  a  difficulty  here  in  the  selection  of  terms.  It  will  natu- 
rally be  objected  that  so  necessary  and  widespread  a  fact  as  the 
preying  of  animals  upon  one  another,  a  practice  that  man  is  as 
guilty  of  as  other  animals,  and  that  among  the  most  morally  ad- 
vanced of  men  is  considered  almost  necessary  to  life,  cannot  properly 
be  called  immoral.  Only  vegetarians  so  regard  it,  and  these  are  com- 
monly classed  as  morbidly  sympathetic,  and  as  examples  of  the  incon- 


CH.  xvn]  MORAL   INDIRECTION  483 

sistency  of  sympathy  to  which  reference  was  made  in  Chapter  XV. 
I  have  myself  shown1  that  if  life  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  good  there  is 

a  sufficient  justification  of  man's  general  treatment  of  the  brute  creation ; 
that  a  larger  amount  of  animal  life  exists  under  man's  influence  than  could 
exist  without  it ;  that  he  creates  more  life  than  he  destroys ;  that  his 
methods  of  destruction  are  less  painful  than  those  of  nature ;  that  it  is  to 
his  interest  to  treat  animals  well,  to  supply  them  with  abundant  food,  and 
relieve  them  from  those  constant  fears,  both  of  enemies  and  of  want,  which 
characterize  their  condition  in  a  wild  state ;  and  that  when  life  is  taken,  it 
is  done  quickly  and  as  painlessly  as  possible ;  that  the  reverse  of  all  this  is 
the  case  in  nature,  and  hence  a  great  amount  of  human  sympathy  is  wasted 
on  the  creatures  under  man's  control  in  consequence  of  ignorance  of  a  few 
facts  and  principles. 

Even  in  the  wild  state  it  might  be  maintained  that,  under  the  laws 
of  multiplication  as  set  forth  by  Malthus  for  the  human  race  and 
extended  to  the  whole  animal  world  by  Darwin,  if  the  excess  were 
not  destroyed  by  predatory  animals  it  would  be  removed  by  famine, 
and  that  the  former  method,  bad  as  it  is,  results  in  less  suffering 
upon  the  whole  than  the  latter. 

The  word  moral  is  so  commonly  employed  as  the  opposite  of  im- 
moral and  in  the  sense  of  right,  that  any  other  use  of  it  is  likely 
to  be  misunderstood.  Yet  this  is  not  its  primary  sense.  This  is : 
pertaining  to  the  mos,  custom  or  right.  That  is,  any  action  which 
relates  in  any  way  to  compliance  with  or  violation  of  the  customs  or 
accepted  code  of  action  or  conduct,  is  a  moral  action.  Still  more 
fundamental  would  be  the  definition  of  a  moral  act  as  one  in  any 
way  involving  pleasure  or  pain  in  sentient  beings.  Moral  is  then 
opposed,  not  to  immoral,  but  to  unmoral,  non-moral,  amoral,  or  an- 
ethical.2  Ethical  has  primarily  nearly  the  same  meaning,  but  seems 
to  be  even  more  difficult  to  detach  from  other  implications.  I  pro- 
pose therefore  to  use  the  term  moral  for  the  form  of  indirection 
that  affects  feeling  beings,  and  which  is  in  the  broad  sense  at  the 
same  time  immoral. 

Moral  Indirection.  —  The  form  of  action  primarily  relied  upon  by 

1  In  a  paper  on  the  "  Animal  Population  of  the  Globe,"  read  before  the  Philosoph- 
ical Society  of  Washington  on  Oct  23,  1880.    See  abstract  in  the  Bulletin  of  the 
Society,  Vol.  IV,  pp.  27-29.    The  paper  was  a  general  discussion  of  an  article  I  had 
prepared  on  the  statistics  of  farm  animals  of  the  world,  which  appeared  in  full  in  the 
Chicago  Times  for  Dec.  18,  1880,  pp.  8-9. 

2  I  used  this  word  in  1896  (American  Journ.  of  Sociology,  Vol.  II,  September,  1896, 
p.  250)  as  an  etymologically  correct  substitute  for  the  bad  form  "  amoral  "  used  by 
French  writers  (Roberty,  Bernes,  Durkheim,  etc.). 


484  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

predatory  animals  is  the  ruse.  The  creatures  preyed  upon  seek  by 
every  means  in  their  power  to  escape.  Having  developed  under 
these  conditions  they  have  acquired  through  natural  selection  the 
means  of  doing  this  in  the  majority  of  cases  —  fleetness,  powers  of 
flight,  burrowing  instincts,  various  means  of  concealment  —  and  if 
their  natural  enemies  had  to  depend  upon  direct  pursuit  they  would 
usually  fail  and  could  not  maintain  a  predatory  subsistence.  In  the 
means  of  offense  and  defense  there  is  a  close  analogy  between  nations 
and  animal  species.  The  two  have  in  both  cases  grown  up  together. 
As  weapons  of  war  improve  so  do  the  forms  of  armor.  It  is  a  per- 
petual see-saw,  but  results  in  more  terrible  engines  on  the  one  hand 
and  more  inexpugnable  battlements  on  the  other.  In  the  animal 
world  the  means  of  attack  and  the  means  of  escape  have  also  kept 
pace,  but  here  the  predatory  species  have  not  so  much  relied  upon 
fleetness  and  strength  as  upon  cunning,  not  so  much  upon  physical 
as  upon  mental  qualities.  The  analogy  holds  here  also,  for,  as  is 
well  known,  the  victory  is  not  to  the  strong  but  to  the  inventive 
nation.  Mind  in  every  case  is  the  chief  element  of  strength,  and 
this  strength  is  always  proportioned  to  the  degree  to  which  telic 
methods  are  employed  and  the  power  acquired  to  call  nature  to  the 
aid  of  muscle  and  sinew.  Notwithstanding  the  enormous  difference 
between  the  two  planes  of  telic  activity  he.re  compared  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  difference  in  the  principle  involved. 

The  ruse  is  the  simplest  form  of  deception,  and  this  brings  out  the 
vital  truth  that  in  so  far  as  mind  deals  with  sentient  beings  deception 
is  its  essential  nature.  It  might  be  supposed  that  the  utilization 
of  psychic  forces  involved  in  the  deceiving  and  catching  of  other 
living  things  would  require  a  higher  order  of  intelligence  than  that 
required  in  utilizing  physical  forces  and  inanimate  objects.  Up  to  a 
certain  point  this  doubtless  is  true,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  first 
exercise  of  the  rational  faculty,  the  primordial  tentation  and  intui- 
tion, was  in  connection  with  the  physical  environment.  But  this 
could  only  deal  with  the  simplest  and  most  obvious  properties 
and  relations,  while,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  all  other  physical 
phenomena  are  too  obscure  to  be  thus  utilized.  Paradoxical  as  it 
may  sound,  biotic  phenomena  and  laws  are  far  more  simple  and 
intelligible  than  physical  phenomena.  Animals  obey  psychic 
forces,  which,  as  we  saw  in  Chapter  VI  and  especially  in  Chap- 
ter VII,  are  true  natural  forces  that  may,  in  their  simpler  mani- 


CH.  xvn]  MORAL  INDIRECTION  485 

festations,  be  readily  calculated  in  advance  and  implicitly  relied 
upon.  The  ruse  and  deception  in  general  do  not  call  for  specially 
high  intellectual  powers.  As  Mr.  Havelock  Ellis  says :  "  The 
method  of  attaining  results  by  ruses  (common  among  all  the 
weaker  lower  animals)  is  so  habitual  among  women  that,  as  Lom- 
brose  and  Ferrero  remark,  in  women  deception  is  '  almost  physiologi- 
cal.' " J  And  as  much  might  have  been  said  for  children,  mere 
babies  habitually  resorting  to  it,  as  every  parent  knows.  It  is 
therefore  not  surprising  that  predatory  animals,  depending  for  their 
very  existence  upon  other  simple-minded  species  with  specialized 
means  of  escape  in  case  of  open  attack,  should  soon  develop  the 
telic  faculty  in  the  particular  direction  and  special  form  of  deceiving 
and  entrapping  their  prey.  Instinct  went  a  long  way  on  this  road, 
as  in  the  spider's  toils,  and  the  cunning  of  the  higher  animals  is 
so  highly  specialized  and  limited  that  it  becomes  half  instinct. 

Man,  although  not  probably  developed  out  of  a  predatory  animal, 
found  himself  at  his  origin  endowed  with  ample  powers  of  deception 
to  lay  the  animal  world  under  tribute  to  him,  and  the  two  great 
primitive  stages  of  his  history,  the  venary  and  the  pastoral  stages, 
testify  to  the  extent  to  which  he  made  use  of  this  simplest  telic 
attribute.  But  he  did  not  stop  with  the  control  and  utilization 
of  psychic  forces  as  manifested  in  the  animal  world.  The  more 
cunning  men  and  those  more  favorably  situated  early  began  the 
control  and  utilization  of  the  less  cunning  and  less  favorably 
situated.  Thus  was  begun  the  era  of  exploitation  treated  in  Chapter 
XII.  Mr.  Veblen,  with  remarkable  penetration,  applies  the  term 
"  predatory  " 2  to  the  leisure  class  and  points  out  that  the  methods  of 
the  "pecuniary  occupations"  even  to-day  are  at  least  "quasi-preda- 
tory." All  these  methods  involve  deception  and  demonstrate  that 
the  intellectual  method  applied  to  psychic  beings  rests  upon  one 
fundamental  principle,  the  principle  of  deception.  The  universality 
of  deception  in  all  mankind  has  been  so  generally  recognized  and  so 
often  illustrated  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  treat  it  in  detail.  It  will 
be  sufficient  to  make  a  rough  analysis  of  its  principal  forms  arranged 
as  nearly  as  practicable  in  the  ascending  order  of  intellectual  de- 
velopment. 

1  "  Man  and  Woman,"  by  Havelock  Ellis,  Third  Edition,  London,  1902,  p.  174. 

2  "  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,"  by  Thorstein  Veblen,  New  York,  1899, 
pp.  209,  336. 


486  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

The  cunning  displayed  by  man  in  outwitting  and  circumvent- 
ing animals  is  only  a  step  higher  than  the  ruse  by  which  preda- 
tory animals  deceive  and  catch  their  prey.  The  purpose  is  primarily 
the  same,  and  hunting,  fishing,  etc.,  are  simple  forms  of  predation 
among  animals  of  different  powers  of  mind,  man  being  in  so  far 
a  predatory  carnivorous  animal.  But  when  the  idea  arises,  which 
does  not  always  occur  at  the  same  relative  historic  stage  of  cul- 
ture, of  taking  animals  alive  and  compelling  them  to  serve  their 
captors  in  any  of  the  various  ways  in  which  domestic  animals 
are  made  useful  to  man,  a  slightly  higher  form  of  telic  action  is 
resorted  to.  The  animals  must  be  tamed.  But  a  full-grown  wild 
animal  cannot  be  tamed.  It  will  not  eat  in  captivity  and  will 
destroy  itself  in  its  fright  and  frantic  efforts  to  free  itself. 
Animals  must  be  taken  while  young,  must  be  left  unharmed  and 
supplied  with  food.  In  this  way,  at  least  after  a  few  genera- 
tions, they  become  docile.  They  may  then  be  induced  to  breed 
freely  and  be  multiplied  at  will.  All  this  requires  considerable 
intelligence. 

In  exploiting  men  a  still  higher  exercise  of  telic  power  is  requisite, 
but  perhaps  not  so  much  higher  as  might  be  supposed.  No  doubt 
slavery  was  as  much  due  to  cunning  as  to  force.  The  lowest  types 
of  men  are  only  just  above  the  plane  of  animals  and  many  slaves  are 
scarcely  more  than  domestic  animals.  In  the  metasocial  state  after 
the  formation  of  caste,  the  inequalities  among  men  were  greatly  in- 
creased and  it  was  easy  for  a  few  of  the  higher  class  to  keep  the 
mass  of  mankind  in  subjection.  This  was  accomplished  primarily 
of  course  by  force,  but  forms  of  deception  were  also  constantly 
resorted  to.  The  idea  of  the  essential  inferiority  of  the  subject 
class  must  be  steadily  kept  in  the  minds  of  that  class.  The  least 
suspicion  that  this  was  not  true  would  greatly  disturb  the  social 
state.  It  was  therefore  a  settled  policy  to  enforce  this  idea,  and 
a  great  variety  of  subterfuges  were  adopted  to  this  end.  At 
later  stages,  and  even  at  the  present  time,  those  artificial  social 
inequalities  which  enable  the  prosperous  classes  to  thrive  at  the 
expense  of  the  proletariat,  and  of  the  less  favored  classes  where 
no  true  proletariat  exists,  are  chiefly  maintained  through  the 
systematic  deception  of  the  latter,  and  the  inculcation  through 
religious  beliefs,  when  not  otherwise  possible,  of  the  doctrine  that 
the  existing  social  condition  is  not  only  natural  and  necessary 


CH.  xvn]  MORAL  INDIRECTION  487 

but  divinely  ordained.  In  fact  from  the  first  religion  has  always 
been  the  most  potent  of  all  the  means  of  egoistic  exploitation, 
for  while  it  does  not  seem  to  favor  any  individual  or  class,  it 
engenders  a  universal  optimism  and  resignation  which  are  highly 
favorable  to  all  forms  of  exploitation. 

Deception  may  almost  be  called  the  foundation  of  business.  It  is 
true  that  if  all  business  men  would  altogether  discard  it  matters  would 
probably  be  far  better  even  for  them  than  they  are,  but  taking  the 
human  character  as  it  is,  it  is  frankly  avowed  by  business  men  them- 
selves that  no  business  could  succeed  for  a  single  year  if  it  were  to 
attempt  single-handed  and  alone  to  adopt  such  an  innovation.  The 
particular  form  of  deception  characteristic  of  business  is  called 
shrewdness,  and  is  universally  considered  proper  and  upright. 
There  is  a  sort  of  code  that  fixes  the  limit  beyond  which  this  form 
of  deception  must  not  be  carried,  and  those  who  exceed  that  limit 
are  looked  upon  somewhat  as  is  a  pugilist  who  "  hits  below  the  belt." 
But  within  those  limits  every  one  expects  every  other  to  suggest  the 
false  and  suppress  the  true,  while  caveat  emptor  is  lord  of  all,  and 
"  the  devil  take  the  hindmost." 

In  politics  the  practice  of  deception  does  not  differ  as  much  as  is 
generally  supposed  from  that  of  business.  While  principle  is  loudly 
proclaimed  from  the  stump,  interest  lies  behind  it  all.  Another 
superficial  view  is  that  it  is  the  "  politicians "  who  are  making  a 
business  of  politics  and  leading  the  masses  to  do  their  bidding. 
There  is  only  a  basis  of  truth  for  this  but  it  is  not  important.  Back 
of  the  politician  and  demagogue  lie  the  "vested  interests,"  and 
these  it  is  that  are  "  making  public  opinion."  It  is  customary  in 
these  days  to  laud  the  newspaper,  but,  except  for  the  little  news 
that  it  contains,  which  is  to  its  managers  a  secondary  consideration, 
the  newspaper  is  simply  an  organ  of  deception.  Every  prominent 
newspaper  is  the  defender  of  some  interest  and  everything  it  says 
is  directly  or  indirectly  (and  most  effective  when  indirect)  in  sup- 
port of  that  interest.  There  is  no  such  thing  at  the  present  time  as 
a  newspaper  that  defends  a  principle.  In  1895  Mr.  John  Swinton, 
a  well-known  and  life-long  newspaper  man,  in  response  to  a  toast  : 
"  The  Independent  Press,"  at  a  banquet  of  the  New  York  Press 
Association,  said :  — 

There  is  no  such  thing  in  America  as  an  independent  press  unless  it  is 
in  the  country  towns.  You  know  it,  and  I  know  it.  There  is  not  one  of 


488  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

you  who  dare  express  an  honest  opinion.  If  you  express  it,  you  know  before- 
hand that  it  would  never  appear  in  print.  I  am  paid  $150  per  week  for  keep 
ing  my  honest  opinions  out  of  the  paper  I  am  connected  with.  Others  of 
you  are  paid  similar  salaries  for  doing  similar  things.  If  I  should  permit 
honest  opinions  to  be  printed  in  one  issue  of  my  paper,  like  Othello,  before 
twenty-four  hours  my  occupation  would  be  gone.  The  man  who  would  be 
so  foolish  as  to  write  honest  opinions  would  be  out  on  the  street  hunting  for 
another  job.  The  business  of  the  New  York  journalist  is  to  distort  the 
truth,  to  lie  outright,  to  pervert,  to  vilify,  to  fawn  at  the  feet  of  Mammon, 
and  to  sell  his  country  and  race  for  his  daily  bread ;  or  for  what  is  about 
the  same  thing,  his  salary.  You  know  this,  and  I  know  it ;  and  what  fool- 
ery to  be  toasting  an  "  independent  press."  We  are  tools,  and  the  vassals 
of  rich  men  behind  the  scenes.  We  are  jumping-jacks.  They  pull  the 
string  and  we  dance.  Our  time,  our  talents,  our  lives,  our  possibilities,  all 
are  the  property  of  other  men.  We  are  intellectual  prostitutes. 

We  might  take  up  the  legal  profession  and  we  would  there  find 
the  same  general  fact  —  systematic  deception.  I  used  to  smile  when 
I  heard  good  and  simple  country  dames  say  that  lawyers  lived  by 
lying,  and  I  "  studied  law,"  acquired  that  profession,  and  was  duly 
admitted  to  the  bar.  But  long  before  the  end  I  had  learned  that  the 
good  country  dames  were  right  and  I  was  wrong.  I  was  openly 
taught  by  the  senior  professor  that  my  business  was  to  gain  my  case, 
and  that  I  was  not  to  be  the  judge  of  the  justice  of  the  case.  That 
was  matter  for  the  judge.  I  need  scarcely  add  that  I  have  never 
pleaded  a  case. 

The  form  of  deception  used  in  warfare  is  called  strategy,  and  the 
kind  that  nations  practice  is  known  as  diplomacy.  There  is  collec- 
tive deception  as  well  as  individual  deception.  There  is  deception 
in  the  home  and  deception  in  the  church.  The  average  sermon  is  a 
more  or  less  clumsy,  more  or  less  artful  piece  of  sophistry.  A  mo- 
ment's conversation  with  a  stranger  will  usually  reveal  the  fact  that 
he  is  trying  to  deceive  you  about  something,  and  if  you  do  not  dis- 
cover this  it  is  generally  because  he  has  succeeded.  Fashionable 
society  consists  wholly  in  sham,  quackery  reigns  in  the  professions 
and  charlatanism  in  scientific  bodies ;  falsehood  permeates  business, 
and  as  you  look  out  a  car  window,  the  rocks  and  trees  are  placarded 
all  over  with  lies.1 

1  Most  advertisements  other  than  mere  announcements  for  public  information, 
such  as  those  of  governments,  are  in  the  nature  of  intentional  deceptions.  The 
superlatives,  as  "  the  best,"  the  strong  words,  as  "  superior,"  and  the  word  "  only," 
almost  always  occurring  in  them,  are  simply  falsehoods,  and  society  would  be  justi- 
fied in  forbidding  their  use  as  devices  for  "obtaining  money  under  false  pretenses." 


CH.  xvn]  MATERIAL   INDIRECTION  489 

Material  Indirection.  —  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  there  is  any 
malicious  intent  in  the  universal  deception  and  exploitation  that 
characterize  the  application  of  telic  methods  to  sentient  things. 
Neither  animals  nor  men  cause  others  "pain  for  the  mere  love  of  it. 
It  is  only  that  creatures  susceptible  to  pain  get  in  the  way  of  irre- 
sistible natural  forces  and  suffer  accordingly.  The  lava  that  rolls 
down  the  sides  of  a  Vesuvius  or  a  Mont  Pelee  is  not  deterred  by  the 
presence  at  the  base  of  a  Pompeii  or  a  St.  Pierre.  It  is  about  the 
same  with  the  vital  and  psychic  forces  that  impel  living  beings. 
The  end  is  the  sole  consideration.  If  that  can  be  attained  without 
causing  pain  it  is  the  same  to  the  agent.  There  is  no  particular 
reason  why  the  telic  method  should  be  applied  to  feeling  beings 
rather  than  to  insentient  and  inanimate  things.  If  such  an  exercise 

The  philosophy  of  advertising  is  interesting  and  has  never  to  my  knowledge  been 
written.  The  economists  know  of  course  that  the  cost  of  advertising  is  added  to  the 
price,  and  that  it  belongs  among  the  facts  of  "aggressive  competition,"  which  in- 
creases instead  of  diminishing  prices.  But  this  is  by  no  means  all.  It  really  affects 
the  quality  more  than  the  price.  It  is  the  price  relative  to  the  quality  that  it  in- 
creases. If  it  greatly  raised  the  price  it  would  not  "  pay."  Extensively  advertised 
articles  are  not  usually  higher,  but  are  rather  lower  in  price  than  those  only  moder- 
ately advertised.  The  cost  of  advertising  must  therefore  mainly  come  out  of  the 
quality.  In  general  it  may  be  safely  assumed  that  an  article  that  is  placarded  on  the 
streets  and  along  the  railroads,  and  to  which  much  space  is  given  in  the  newspapers 
by  means  of  striking  advertisements,  is,  relatively  to  its  price,  a  poor  article.  Con- 
noisseurs of  tobacco,  for  example,  know  this  to  be  the  case  with  cigars,  and  avoid 
these  brands.  But  here  is  where  the  principles  of  human  nature  enter  into  the  phi- 
losophy of  advertising.  The  business  success  of  advertising  rests  upon  the  feeble 
reasoning  powers  and  the  extraordinary  gullibility  of  mankind  in  general.  What- 
ever is  constantly  thrust  before  their  eyes  is  sure  to  entrap  a  certain  percentage,  and 
therefore  the  absolute  number  caught  will  be  proportional  to  the  number  baited. 
Two  other  principles  of  human  nature  work  in  favor  of  the  advertiser.  When  a 
victim  finds  himself  deceived  he  thereafter  avoids  that  particular  snare.  The  widely 
advertised  article  is  therefore  only  bought  once  by  the  same  person,  and  depends  for 
its  success  upon  the  number  of  these  temporary  customers.  It  might  be  supposed 
that  so  many  disappointed  individuals  would  ruin  the  sale  by  their  general  condem- 
nation. Not  so.  They  have  no  motive  for  denouncing  the  article  in  question  to 
others,  while  on  the  other  hand  they  have  the  strong  motive  of  self-esteem  for  not 
letting  it  be  known  that  they  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  allow  themselves  to  be  de- 
ceived. A  good  article  is  its  own  advertisement.  The  user  who  finds  it  excellent  is 
eager  to  recommend  it  to  others.  This  principle  is  very  strong,  and  is  closely  allied 
to,  if  not  identical  with,  the  proselyting  spirit  in  religion.  Broadly  stated  it  is  that 
what  one  enjoys  one  wishes  others  to  enjoy.  But  he  who  suffers  naturally  conceals 
the  fact.  The  negative  side  of  feeling,  call  it  pain,  disappointment,  regret,  chagrin, 
or  what  you  will,  is  kept  in  the  background.  It  is  a  mark  of  weakness,  and  no  one 
will  confess  to  weakness,  physical  or  mental.  This  is  the  chief  ground  for  the  suc- 
cess of  falsifying  advertisements,  but  it  is  complicated  by  the  strangely  uncritical 
character  of  most  people,  by  the  fact  that  the  articles  generally  have  some  merits, 
by  the  diversity  of  human  tastes,  and  by  the  reservation  that  one  may  after  all  ba 
mistaken. 


490  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

of  mind  promises  the  same  results  it  will  be  adopted.  But  the  ex- 
ploitation of  other  living  things  is  simple  and  about  the  first  thing 
to  suggest  itself. 

The  exploitation,  we  might  almost  say  deception,  of  inanimate 
nature  requires  a  higher  development  of  the  telic  faculty.  Material 
things  do  not  move  of  themselves.  Their  properties  are  hidden  and 
must  be  searched  for.  Physical  forces  are  invisible  and  intangible, 
and  when  they  cause  motion,  primitive  man  imputes  to  the  objects 
moved  life  and  intelligence.  The  egoistic  utilization  of  the  psychic 
forces  residing  in  living  things  is  common  to  animals  and  men,  but 
the  utilization  of  physical  forces  and  the  subtler  properties  of 
material  bodies  is  an  exclusively  human  power.  Animals,  as  shown 
in  Chapter  XV,  only  reach  the  stage  of  imitation.  They  do  not 
attain  to  that  of  imagination.  In  that  chapter  imagination  was  only 
connected  with  creative  or  esthetic  art.  We  are  now  prepared  to 
look  deeper  into  the  faculty  of  imagination,  and  to  see  that  it  con- 
stitutes the  common  parent  of  both  creation  and  invention.  It  is 
the  basis  of  and  condition  to  both  the  great  institutions  that  we  call 
art  —  fine  art  and  useful  art. 

The  exercise  of  the  telic  faculty  upon  material  things  and  physi- 
cal forces,  though  not  psychologically  different  from  its  exercise 
upon  living  things,  is  no  longer  called  deception,  and  none  of  the 
terms  employed  in  describing  the  different  forms  of  deception  — 
ruse,  cunning,  sagacity,  tact,  shrewdness,  strategy,  diplomacy  —  are 
applicable  to  it.  The  identically  same  psychic  process  is  now  called 
ingenuity,  and  the  more  involved  forms  of  ingenuity  result  in  inven- 
tion. Ingenuity  is  the  faculty  while  invention  is  the  act,  and  the 
term  is  also  used  for  the  thing  invented.  Ingenuity  and  inventive- 
ness are  nearly  synonymous.  But  ingenuity  was  not  at  its  incep- 
tion a  disinterested  faculty.  Man  was  seeking  to  utilize  everything 
whether  animate  or  inanimate  that  could  serve  his  ends.  Some 
material  objects  were  nutritious  and  he  could  appropriate  them 
directly,  others  must  be  altered  or  modified  and  the  nutrient  ele- 
ments extracted  by  processes  varying  in  complication  and  calling 
forth  greater  or  less  exercise  of  the  telic  power.  At  a  certain  stage 
it  was  discovered  that  material  objects  might  be  made  serviceable 
as  aids  in  the  capture  of  animals  and  as  a  protection  from  the  ele- 
ments. Thus  weapons  of  the  chase,  traps  and  snares  of  simple 
design,  and  various  devices  were  contrived  to  render  the  quest  for 


CH.  xvn]  MATERIAL  INDIRECTION  491 

food  more  easy  and  certain.  A  dead  animal  becomes  brute  matter, 
and  while  its  flesh  serves  for  food  its  skin  is  used  as  a  means  of 
protection.  Even  its  bones  and  claws  may  serve  some  useful  pur- 
pose. Eeeds  and  bamboos,  palm  leaves  and  sticks  from  the  jungle 
finally  contribute  to  comfort  and  safety,  and  from  such  beginnings 
clothing  and  shelter  must  have  been  evolved.  When  the  art  of 
making  fire  was  discovered  another  great  step  was  taken,  and  thus 
little  by  little  the  human  animal  emancipated  himself  from  the 
purely  animal  condition  and  assumed  the  role  of  man. 

The  most  important  result  of  this  early  exercise  of  the  directive 
agent  upon  the  inanimate  world  was  the  control  thereby  gained  of 
the  environment  whereby  that  strictly  animal  characteristic  was 
outgrown  which  restricts  every  species  to  its  own  particular  habitat, 
to  which  it  has  become  adapted,  and  beyond  which  it  cannot  range 
without  encountering  such  hostile  elements  as  to  destroy  it.  Ani- 
mals are  adscripti  glebce  in  a  far  more  absolute  sense  than  the  serfs 
of  feudal  ages.  No  degree  of  intensity  in  the  dynamic  agent,  no 
amount  of  skill  in  capturing  prey,  could  free  the  race  of  this  natural 
serfdom.  Only  through  the  exercise  of  the  telic  faculty  upon  the 
inanimate  world  through  ingenuity  and  invention  could  this  great 
step  be  taken.  The  importance  of  this  step  may  be  appreciated 
when  we  remember  that  it  rendered  indefinite  migration  possible, 
and  inaugurated  the  stage  characterized  in  Chapter  X  as  the  stage 
of  social  differentiation.  It  was  in  fact  the  beginning  of  human 
society.  The  subsequent  steps  were  there  traced  and  we  need 
only  now  supply  the  telic  factor  at  each  stage  in  order  better  to 
grasp  the  sum  total  of  the  influences  at  work  in  achieving  the 
results  described.  This  factor  was  always  'present  and  it  increased 
in  force  more  rapidly  in  the  later  than  in  the  earlier  stages. 

We  are  concerned  here  with  material  indirection  only  as  a  phase  of 
the  genesis  of  mind.  We  have  seen  that  it  was  intuitive,  synthetic, 
and  egocentric.  Throughout  the  earlier  stages  of  society  it  doubt- 
less chiefly  remained  so,  and  the  end  to  be  attained  through  any 
ingenious  device  was  constantly  before  the  mind  of  the  inventor  to 
the  practical  exclusion  of  all  other  sentiments.  But  a  time  at 
length  arrived  when  the  mental  exercise  involved  in  invention  be- 
gan to  constitute  a  satisfaction  of  its  own.  It  was  shown  in  Chap- 
ter XV  that  the  discovery  of  truth  yields  a  satisfaction  that  can 
scarcely  be  compared  with  any  other.  Nothing  was  there  said  of 


492  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

invention,  but  it  is  clear  that  it  differs  ps37chologically  from  the 
discovery  of  truth  considered  as  the  simple  working  over  of  the 
materials  already  in  the  mind  and  the  extraction  therefrom  of  new 
truths  and  higher  generalizations.  The  inventor  is  dealing  with 
material  objects  and  with  physical  forces  manifesting  themselves 
through  such  objects.  Invention  takes  advantage  of  the  principle 
mentioned  in  Chapter  V,  that  while  matter  can  be  neither  created 
nor  destroyed  nor  the  sum  total  of  its  activities  increased  or  dimin- 
ished, its  mode  of  motion  may  be  varied  in  any  desired  way.  In- 
vention consists  then  essentially  in  varying  the  mode  of  motion  of 
matter.  But  as  this  may  be  done  at  will,  the  particular  way  in 
which  the  inventor  wills  to  vary  it  is  that  which  will  result  in  some 
advantage,  primarily  to  the  inventor,  but  ultimately  to  mankind  in 
general.  The  inventive  power  consists  therefore  in  the  ability  to 
see  what  variations  in  the  mode  of  motion  of  the  material  objects 
under  examination  will  result  in  advantage  to  man.  This  advan- 
tage to  man  constitutes  utility,  and  therefore  what  the  inventor  is 
seeking  is  utility.  Utility  is  a  relation,  and  the  perception  of  rela- 
tions is  one  of  the  earliest  manifestations  of  the  telic  faculty.  But 
utilities  are  highly  complex  relations.  Invention  may  then  be  de- 
fined, as  the  perception  of  utilities.  The  complete  oneness  of  the 
whole  telic  faculty  from  simple  intuition  to  human  invention  is 
thus  clearly  brought  out. 

I  have  now  cursorily  passed  in  review  all  the  strictly  advanta- 
geous faculties  in  the  scientific  use  of  that  term,  and  I  think  it  can 
be  safely  said  that  not  one  of  them  has  ever  received  attention  in  any 
of  the  myriad  contributions  to  the  philosophy  of  mind.  Some  of  the 
names  have  been  used,  but  in  entirely  different  senses.  I  do  not  say 
that  passages  do  not  occur  here  and  there  in  the  literature  of  psy- 
chology that  hint  at  the  idea  of  a  true  natural  genesis  of  mind.  I 
have  collected  a  considerable  number  of  such,  but  none  of  them  are 
sufficiently  definite  to  make  sure  that  this  is  the  real  idea.  There 
are  probably  others  that  I  have  not  met  w,ith.  It  seems  certain  that 
no  systematic  attempt  has  been  made  to  account  for  the  rational 
faculty  as  something  that  was  called  into  existence  and  developed 
according  to  the  general  laws  of  organic  evolution. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  NON-ADVANTAGEOUS  FACULTIES 

WHAT  has  been  called  "  the  mind  "  by  those  who  have  written  on 
it  consists  almost  entirely  of  the  non-advantageous  faculties  of  the 
human  intellect.  Not  being  advantageous  to  their  possessors  they 
could  not  be  accounted  for  on  the  principle  of  advantage.  Wallace, 
who  independently  discovered  the  principle  of  natural  selection,  ad- 
mits this,  abandons  the  attempt,  and  has  recourse  to  the  doctrine  of 
spiritualism.  By  advantageous  is  of  course  meant  that  which  fits  a 
being  to  survive.  It  must  in  some  way  contribute  to  better  nutri- 
tion, to  physical  protection,  or  to  more  certain  propagation.  All  the 
faculties  considered  in  the  last  chapter  directly  and  conspicuously 
serve  the  first  two  of  these  ends,  and  it  was  seen  in  Chapter  XIV 
that  brain  became  at  length  a  secondary  sexual  character  and  thus 
contributed  to  the  phylogenetic  development  of  the  higher  animal 
types  and  of  man. 

ORIGIN  OF  GENIUS 

The  non-advantageous  faculties  may  all  be  included  under  the 
comprehensive  term  genius,  taken  in  somewhat  the  same  sense  in 
which  Galton  uses  it.  The  distinguishing  characteristic  of  genius 
is  that  it  does  not  have  preservation  or  reproduction  for  its  end,  but 
is,  as  we  may  say,  an  end  in  itself.  This  does  not  mean  that  it  is 
devoid  of  motive,  for  if  it  were  it  would  be  incapable  of  producing 
action.  It  only  means  that  its  motive  is  not  an  ontogenetic  or  a 
phylogenetic  force,  but  is  a  sociogenetic  force.  It  may  be  a  moral 
force,  and  it  is  to  some  extent  an  esthetic  force,  but  it  is  chiefly  an 
intellectual  force.  When  we  reach  the  stage  of  genius  the  brain  has 
become  an  emotional  center,  and  as  we  saw  in  Chapter  XV,  the 
appetites,  wants,  and  feelings  of  the  intellect  constitute  motives  of 
great  strength.  This  alone  accounts  for  the  non-advantageous  facul- 
ties in  a  thoroughly  scientific  manner,  and  there  is  no  need  of  des- 
canting on  the  "  mystery  of  mind."  It  is  no  more  mysterious  than 
other  things.  Everything  in  nature  becomes  unexplainable  if  we 

493 


49-1  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

trace  it  far  enough  back.  This  was  the  method  of  the  old  phi- 
losophy, but  it  becomes  a  sort  of  "  fool's  puzzle,"  and  is  entirely  aban- 
doned by  positive  science,  the  progress  of  which  has  not  been  in  the 
least  impeded  by  abandoning  it.1 

But  there  is  still  another  way  of  accounting  for  the  non-advan- 
tageous faculties.  They  are  to  be  regarded  as  derivative,  and  as 
having  naturally  grown  out  of  the  advantageous  faculties.  This 
took  place  along  three  somewhat  different  lines.  The  first  of  these 
lines  was  that  of  invention,  the  second  that  of  esthetic  creation,  and 
the  third  that  of  general  intellectual  exercise  or  philosophy.  These 
may  be  treated  in  this  order. 

Inventive  Genius.  —  Invention  in  its  later  stages  becomes  subjec- 
tive and  takes  the  form  of  genius.  As  remarked  in  the  last  chapter, 
the  perception  of  utilities,  at  first  simply  as  such,  i.e.,  as  means  of 
attaining  personal  ends,  often  succeeding  admirably  in  accomplish- 
ing this,  soon  began  to  constitute  an  independent  stimulus,  and  the 
search  for  utilities  became  a  pleasurable  occupation.  This  double 
motive  led  to  renewed  application  and  heightened  zeal,  and  there 
arose  on  the  part  of  the  inventor  a  tendency  to  lose  sight,  temporarily 
at  least,  of  the  practical  end  and  to  yield  wholly  to  the  spur  of  an- 
ticipated success  residing  in  his  own  mind.  When  invention  reaches 
this  stage  it  becomes  genius,  and  henceforth  it  exists  for  its  own 
sake.  It  becomes  a  passion  and  is  pursued  often  at  a  sacrifice  of 
other  pleasures  and  satisfactions  and  even  of  positive  wants.  This 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  many  of  the  greatest  inventors  have  been  in 
indigent  circumstances  and  almost  forgetful  of  their  personal  neces- 
sities. It  is  the  same  motive  that  actuates  the  unsuccessful  inventor 
and  the  deluded  persons  who  vainly  strive  for  years,  or  it  may  be 
for  a  lifetime,  to  apply  a  false  principle,  such  as  "  perpetual  motion." 

In  modern  times  there  is  a  very  large  number  of  almost  profes- 
sional inventors  employed  for  the  most  part  by  manufacturing 
establishments,  and  who  are  thus  able  to  subsist  by  this  alone.  The 
fact  that  such  persons  can  always  be  found  and  that  they  have 
sufficient  inventive  ability  to  enable  such  establishments  to  keep 
abreast  of  the  times  and  vie  with  one  another  in  the  constant  pro- 
duction of  improved  appliances  of  all  kinds,  seems  to  prove  that  the 

1 1  dealt  at  considerable  length  on  this  aspect  in  an  address  entitled:  "  Status  of 
the  Mind  Problem,"  delivered  under  the  auspices  of  the  Anthropological  Society  of 
Washington  on  April  8,  1893,  and  published  as  Special  Paper  No.  1,  of  the  Society, 
Washington,  1894,  pp.  18,  8°. 


CH.  xvin]  CREATIVE   GENIUS  495 

inventive  power  of  man  is  widely  diffused  and  capable  of  being 
"developed,"  i.e.,  stimulated  into  activity  by  suitable  opportunity. 
The  surprising  thing  is  that  in  all  the  best  equipped  universities 
and  polytechnic  institutes  there  seems  to  be  no  recognition  of  inven- 
tion as  a  discipline  apart  from  the  regular  professions  of  engineer- 
ing, surveying,  and  manufacture.  The  manual  training  schools  do, 
no  doubt,  encourage  originality  in  the  methods  of  work,  but  usually 
set  patterns  are  closely  followed  and  there  is  little  play  afforded  for 
the  inventive  powers.  There  is  no  text-book,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
on  invention  in  general,  its  fundamental  principles  and  methods. 
It  would  seem  that  if  invention  could  be  recognized  as  a  science  or 
as  a  profession  and  thoroughly  taught  as  such,  the  perception  of 
utilities  would  be  much  more  general  among  the  educated  public, 
and  the  awkward  mechanical  conditions  under  which  society  labors 
would  be  greatly  improved.  When  we  remember  how  vast  have 
been  the  results  that  have  been  achieved  through  invention  pursued 
in  a  purely  spontaneous  and  unsystematized  way,  we  naturally  won- 
der what  might  be  the  effect  of  its  reduction  to  scientific  method  and 
its  inculcation  through  systematic  courses  of  training  and  instruction. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  other  non-advantageous  faculties  it  is  at 
least  clear  that  inventive  genius  is  a  direct  outgrowth  of  the  original 
egoistic  faculty  of  invention.  It  is  granted  that  no  one  would  have 
ever  designed  an  implement  if  it  had  not  been  seen  that  such  imple- 
ment would  serve  some  other  purpose  than  the  mere  pleasure  of 
designing  it ;  but  the  inventor,  having  designed  one  implement  and 
found  it  to  serve  its  purpose,  takes  a  new  interest  in  the  second,  and 
still  more  in  the  third,  until  at  last  his  interest  in  the  mere  design- 
ing comes  to  prevail  over  his  interest  in  its  purpose.  A  sufficient 
prominence  in  this  secondary  interest  constitutes  inventive  genius. 

Creative  Genius.  —  Although  esthetic  art  is  one  of  the  best  recog- 
nized fields  for  the  display  of  genius,  it  is  perhaps  more  difficult  to 
account  for  creative  than  for  inventive  genius,  but  it  has  been  seen 
that  the  esthetic  faculty  reaches  far  back  into  the  animal  world. 
By  this  is  meant  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  sight,  sound,  or  even  the 
"  feel "  of  certain  things.  Things  that  yield  such  pleasure  are,  to 
those  who  experience  the  pleasure,  beautiful.  In  animals  no  higher 
stage  is  reached  than  that  of  appreciating  beauty  when  it  presents 
itself  to  their  faculties,  but  man  at  a  very  early  stage  acquired  the 
faculty  at  least  of  subjective  creation,  as  imagination  may  be  called, 


496  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [FART  in 

and  of  enjoying  such  subjective  creations.  The  next  step  was  to 
put  together  objects  and  parts  of  objects  that  imagination  showed  to 
be  beautiful  and  thus  to  forms  ideals,  i.e.,  representations  of  things 
that  did  not  exist,  but  of  which  only  the  parts  or  elements  had 
objective  reality.  Such  ideals  are  creations,  and  their  production 
constitutes  creative  genius. 

I  am  unable  to  see  why  this  is  not  a  natural  process.  It  is  true 
that  the  interest  subserved  is  not  one  of  the  primary  wants  of  exist- 
ence. It  is,  however,  a  want,  and  a  somewhat  imperative  one  even 
with  primitive  man.  The  religious  sentiment,  so  universal  in  early 
man,  was  favorable  to  the  development  of  creative  art.  "  Ecclesi- 
astical institutions,"  in  Spencer's  broad  sense,  gave  rise  to  a  demand 
for  temples,  decorations,  and  a  variety  of  art  products,  which  might 
have  given  an  egoistic  bent  to  creative  art.  There  would  then  be  a 
certain  utility  in  creative  products  and  they  would  be  in  the  same 
position  as  early  inventive  products.  The  transition  from  the 
objective  to  the  subjective  here  is  as  easy  as  there,  and  art  is  much 
better  recognized  as  a  passion  than  invention.  It  becomes,  as  its 
whole  history  attests,  a  consuming  passion,  and  its  development 
from  this  point  on  follows  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  only  difficulty 
is  to  account  for  its  origin,  and  this,  I  think,  has  been  done. 

Philosophic  Genius.  —  We  come  now  to  the  faculty  par  excellence 
that  has  engaged  the  attention  of  the  students  of  mind.  The 
inventive  faculty  has  been  practically  overlooked  and  the  creative 
faculty  has  been  taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  the  faculty  or 
power  of  "  abstract  reasoning,"  as  it  is  called,  this  is  the  great,  the 
worthy,  the  noble  attribute  that  exalts  man  above  all  nature  and 
renders  him  divine.  "  On  earth  there  is  nothing  great  but  man,  in 
man  there  is  nothing  great  but  mind."  * 

1  Sir  William  Hamilton  was  very  fond  of  this  aphorism  and  placed  it  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  all  the  volumes  of  his  lectures  on  metaphysics  and  logic  and  also  on  that  of 
Reid's  works  in  the  edition  edited  by  him.  It  is  therefore  commonly  credited  to  him. 
But  he  did  not  himself  claim  this  credit,  and  in  his  second  lecture  on  metaphysics 
(see  the  edition  of  Mausel  and  Veitch,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1859,  p.  24)  he  repeats 
it  and  attributes  it  to  "  an  ancient  philosopher."  The  editors  here  explain  in  a  foot- 
note that  the  "ancient  philosopher"  was  Phavorinus,  and  that  the  phrase  is  quoted 
from  him  by  Joannes  Picus  Mirandula  in  his  treatise,  "In  Astrologiam,"  Book  III, 
Basil,  p.  351.  This  treatise  is  contained  in  the  "  Opera  Omnia  loannis  Pici  Miran- 
dulae,"  Basileae,  1557,  and  I  find  the  passage  in  Lib.  Ill,  but  on  p.  519,  not  351.  The 
Latin  text  runs:  "  Nihil  magnum  in  terra  praeter  hominem,  nihil  magnum  in  nomine 
praeter  mentem  &  animum."  I  learn  that  there  is  an  earlier  edition  — Venice,  1498  — 
in  which  the  passage  also  occurs. 


CH.  xvin]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  497 

I  have  not  hesitated  to  admit  that  these  faculties  are  non-advan- 
tageous, and,  as  developed  faculties,  cannot  be  accounted  for  on  the 
principle  of  natural  selection.  In  so  far  I  am  in  accord  with  Dr. 
Alfred  Russel  Wallace  who  carefully  set  forth  the  main  considera- 
tions as  far  back  as  1870.  Among  such  faculties  he  enumerates  "  the 
capacity  to  form  ideal  conceptions  of  space  and  time,  of  eternity  and 
infinity — the  capacity  for  intense  artistic  feelings  of  pleasure  in  form, 
color,  and  composition  —  and  for  those  abstract  notions  of  form  and 
number  which  render  geometry  and  arithmetic  possible."  And  he  adds : 

How  were  all  or  any  of  these  faculties  first  developed,  when  they  could 
have  been  of  no  possible  use  to  man  in  his  early  stages  of  barbarism  ?  How 
could  "  natural  selection,"  or  survival  of  the  fittest  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence, at  all  favor  the  development  of  mental  powers  so  entirely  removed 
from  the  material  necessities  of  savage  men,  and  which  even  now,  with  our 
comparatively  high  civilization,  are,  in  their  farthest  developments,  in 
advance  of  the  age,  and  appear  to  have  relation  rather  to  the  future  of  the 
race  than  to  its  actual  status  ? 1 

In  the  last  chapter  of  his  "  Darwinism  "  he  returns  to  this  subject 
and  discusses  the  origin  of  the  mathematical,  musical,  and  artistic 
faculties,  and  says  that  it  is  impossible  to  trace  any  connection 
between  their  possession  and  survival  in  the  struggle  for  existence, 
because,  as  he  says  : 

The  law  of  natural  selection  or  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  as  its  name 
implies,  a  rigid  law,  which  acts  by  the  life  or  death  of  the  individuals  sub- 
mitted to  its  action.  From  its  very  nature  it  can  act  only  on  useful  and 
hurtful  characteristics,  eliminating  the  latter  and  keeping  up  the  former  to 
a  fairly  general  level  of  efficiency.  Hence  it  necessarily  follows  that  the 
characters  developed  by  its  means  will  be  present  in  all  the  individuals  of 
a  species,  and,  though  varying,  will  not  vary  very  widely  from  a  common 
standard.2 

This  is  a  clear  statement,  and  I  fully  agree  with  its  author  that 
not  only  the  faculties  he  enumerates  but  many  others,  some  of 
which  remain  to  be  mentioned,  are  non-advantageous  in  this  sense, 
and  cannot  be  accounted  for  on  the  principle  of  natural  selection. 
But  I  insist  that  the  original  telic  faculty  in  all  its  primary  aspects 
as  set  forth  in  the  last  chapter,  answers  to  all  the  counts  in  the 
above  indictment,  and  not  only  might  have  been,  but  actually  was 

1  "  Contributions  to   the  Theory  of  Natural  Selection,"  a  series  of  Essays,  by 
Alfred  Russel  Wallace,  London,  Macmillan  and  Co.,  1870,  pp.  351-352. 

2  "Darwinism.    An  Exposition  of  the  Theory  of  Natural  Selection  with  some  of 
its  Applications,"  by  Alfred  Russel  Wallace,  London,  1889,  p.  469. 

2  K 


498  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

brought  into  existence  through  the  ^operation  of  this  principle,  and 
that  its  development  proceeded  in  this  manner  up  to  the  point 
where  it  was  left  in  that  chapter.  The  faculties  we  are  here  con- 
sidering grew  out  of  this,  not  through  natural  selection,  but  by  more 
or  less  exceptional  overdevelopment  in  a  comparatively  small  number. 
It  would  be  strange  indeed  if  natural  selection  was  the  only  prin- 
ciple on  which  anything  could  be  accounted  for.  In  Chapter  XI 
I  enumerated  three  great  dynamic  principles :  Difference  of  Poten- 
tial (cross  fertilization),  Innovation,  and  Conation.  I  account  for 
the  non-advantageous  faculties  chiefly  on  the  first  two  of  these. 
But  primarily  they  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  result  of  con- 
tinuous brain  development,  due  to  these  and  other  causes,  and  the 
developed  brain,  having  an  interest  in  its  own  operations,  proceeds 
to  work  out  various  results,  to  elaborate  the  materials  stored  up  in 
it,  and  to  invent,  create,  and  cogitate  everything  that  it  has  the 
capacity  for.  Weismann  truly  says  that  genius  is  not  primarily 
nor  necessarily  specialized,  but  takes  whatever  direction  the  par- 
ticular circumstances  happen  to  favor. 

Gauss  was  not  the  son  of  a  mathematician ;  Handel's  father  was  a 
surgeon,  of  whose  musical  powers  nothing  is  known ;  Titian  was  the  son 
and  also  the  nephew  of  a  lawyer,  while  he  and  his  brother,  Francesco 
Vecellio,  were  the  first  painters  in  a  family  which  produced  a  succession  of 
seven  other  artists  with  diminishing  talents.  ...  At  present,  it  is  of  course 
impossible  to  understand  the  physiological  conditions  which  render  the 
origin  of  such  combinations  possible,  but  it  is  very  probable  that  the  cross- 
ing of  the  mental  dispositions  of  the  parents  plays  a  great  part  in  it.  ... 
The  combination  of  talents  frequently  found  in  one  individual,  and  the 
appearance  of  different  remarkable  talents  in  the  various  branches  of 
one  and  the  same  family,  indicate  that  talents  are  only  special  combinations 
of  certain  highly  developed  mental  dispositions  which  are  found  in  every 
brain.  Many  painters  have  been  admirable  musicians,  and  we  very  fre- 
queutly  find  both  these  talents  developed  to  a  slighter  extent  in  a  single 
individual.  In  the  Feuerbach  family  we  find  a  distinguished  jurist,  a 
remarkable  philosopher,  and  a  highly  talented  artist ;  and  among  the 
Mendelssohns  a  philosopher  as  well  as  a  musician.  .  .  .  From  all  these 
examples  I  wish  to  show  that,  in  my  opinion,  talents  do  not  appear  to 
depend  upon  the  improvement  of  any  special  mental  quality  by  continued 
practice,  but  they  are  the  expression,  and  to  a  certain  extent  the  bye-product, 
of  the  human  mind,  which  is  so  highly  developed  in  all  directions.1 

1  "  Essays  upon  Heredity  and  Kindred  Biological  Problems,"  by  August  Weismann . 
Authorised  translation  edited  by  Edward  B.  Poulton,  Selmar  Schonland,  and  Arthur 
E.  Shipley,  Oxford,  1889,  pp.  96-98. 


CH.  xvni]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  499 

To  most  of  this  I  heartily  assent,  and  although  I  have  omitted 
a  number  of  his  illustrations,  there  are  others  that  he  does  not  give 
which  would  sustain  his  position  quite  as  well ;  for  example  the 
brothers  Humboldt,  one  the  man  of  all  science,  the  other  a  great 
philologist.  I  believe  that  this  illustrates  an  important  law,  which 
might  be  called  the  law  of  mutual  repulsion  in  talented  families, 
the  very  fact  that  one  brother  takes  one  direction  being  the  reason 
why  the  rest  take  other  directions,  and  the  "  black  sheep "  who 
does  nothing  may  be  due  to  the  same  principle  and  not  to  any 
lack  of  ability.  But  Weismann  brings  forward  these  facts  in  sup- 
port of  a  false  proposition  which  they  do  not  sustain,  viz.,  that  the 
exercise  of  these  faculties  has  no  influence  on  their  development. 

It  is  usually  considered  that  the  origin  and  variation  of  instincts  are  also 
dependent  on  the  exercise  of  certain  groups  of  muscles  and  nerves  during  a 
single  lifetime ;  and  that  the  gradual  improvement  which  is  thus  caused  by 
practice,  is  accumulated  by  hereditary  transmission.  I  believe  that  this  is 
an  entirely  erroneous  view,  and  I  hold  that  all  instinct  is  entirely  due  to  the 
operation  of  natural  selection,  and  has  its  foundation,  not  upon  inherited 
experiences,  but  upon  the  variations  of  the  germ.  ...  In  my  opinion  there 
is  absolutely  no  trustworthy  proof  that  talents  have  been  improved  by  their 
exercise  through  the  course  of  a  long  series  of  generations.1 

Mr.  Spencer  in  his  "Factors  of  Organic  Evolution"  and  in  his 
several  answers  and  rejoinders  to  Weismann's  subsequent  articles 
and  addresses  has  sufficiently  answered  this  point,  and  we  may  be 
spared  from  entering  into  the  endless  and  hopeless  discussion  of  the 
question  of  the  transmission  of  acquired  characters.2  It  only  needs 
to  be  pointed  out  that  his  argument  is  a  reductio  ad  absurdum, 
because  he  has  just  said  that  these  faculties  cannot  be  due  to  natural 
selection.  If  they  are  beyond  the  reach  of  natural  selection  and  are 
not  the  result  of  exercising  the  parts  of  brain  that  cause  them,  then 
they  are  inexplicable  from  any  point  of  view  that  Weismann  has 
presented.  Of  course  there  remains  the  mutation  theory  of  de  Vries, 
but  Weismann  had  not  then  heard  of  that.  That  theory  is  the  same 
that  I  have  called  "  innovation  "  and  "  fortuitous  variation."  This 

1  Ibid.,  pp.  91,  95-96. 

2  Should  any  care  to  know  my  own  notions  on  this  question  they  will  find  them  in 
the  following  papers:   "  Neo-Darwinism  and  Neo-Lamarkism,"  Annual  Address  of 
the  President  of  the  Biological  Society  of  Washington,  delivered  January  24, 1891, 
Proceedings  of  the  Biological  Society  of  Washington,  Vol.  VI,  pp.  11-71;    "The 
Transmission  of  Culture,"  The  Forum,  Vol.  XI,  May,  1891,  pp.  312-319 ;  "  Weismann's 
Concessions,"  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XLV,  June,  1894,  pp.  175-184. 


500  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

theory  explains  short  steps,  but  it  can  scarcely  explain  Galileos, 
Newtons,  and  Shakespeares.  That  talents  are  so  rarely  perpetuated 
through  many  generations  Weismann  has  himself  explained  through 
panmixia,  but  Galton  has  made  a  heroic  effort  to  show  that  genius 
is  hereditary,  panmixia  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  The  fact 
is  that  all  talent,  ability,  and  superiority  of  every  kind  have  been 
"  acquired  "  by  somebody  by  exercising  the  appropriate  faculties, 
but  about  half  of  the  gain  is  usually  lost  by  the  first  cross,  which, 
under  the  laws  of  mutual  selection  (amphedexis),  explained  in  Chap- 
ter XIV,  joins  the  person  of  a  special  talent  to  another  in  which  it 
is  totally  wanting,  to  prevent  one-sidedness  in  the  race.  But  the 
principle  of  atavism  comes  to  the  rescue,  and  the  ^special  talent  of 
some  more  or  less  remote  ancestor  is  added  to  the  same  talent  in 
a  parent,  so  that  the  effect  appears  to  be  sudden  and  uncaused.  The 
gains  are  therefore  not  wholly  lost;  perhaps  scarcely  anything 
gained  is  ever  lost.  There  is  a  certain  cumulative  effect  in  the  long 
run,  although,  for  the  reasons  stated,  it  appears  to  be  spasmodic. 
Most  of  the  cases  of  towering  genius  are  probably  to  be  ascribed  to 
this  special  concentration  in  some  particular  descendant  of  the 
accumulated  qualities  of  a  long  line  of  ancestors. 

The  defenders  of  natural  selection  have  greatly  retarded  its  uni- 
versal acceptance  by  claiming  too  much  for  it.  The  "  Neo-Dar\vin- 
ians "  in  particular,  by  ignoring  or  belittling  the  Lamarckian 
principle  of  exercise  and  the  Darwinian  principle  of  sexual  selec- 
tion, have  forfeited  their  claim  to  be  called  Darwinians  at  all.  The 
neglect  of  the  factor  of  fortuitous  variation,  also  recognized  by  Dar- 
win, still  further  narrows  the  field  and  causes  natural  selection  to 
be  questioned  by  the  skeptical.  And  now  I  shall  propose  another 
limitation  to  natural  selection  which,  so  far  as  I  now  remember,  has 
thus  far  been  overlooked,  but  which,  it  seems  to  me,  needs  only  to 
be  seated  to  be  accepted  by  all  unbiased  minds.  I  will  formulate  it 
in  two  propositions :  — 

1.  No  organic  or  social  structure  can  originate  unless  it  is  ad- 
vantageous, or  at  least  not  disadvantageous. 

2.  Having   originated,  any  structure   may  vary  in  a  wow-advan- 
tageous direction,  but  not  greatly  in  a  disadvantageous  one. 

An  intellectual  quality,  talent,  or  faculty  is  a  psychic  structure 
based  upon  an  organic  structure  of  the  brain.  It  must  be  advan- 
tageous at  the  start  and  common  to  all  the  members  of  a  species  to 


CH.  xvin]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  501 

insure  its  original  creation.  Such  were  all  the  advantageous  intel- 
lectual faculties  whose  biologic  origin  was  treated  in  the  last  chap- 
ter. But  once  in  existence,  any  and  all  of  these  faculties  may  vary 
in  any  given  direction  and  grow  into  wholly  non-advantageous 
faculties,  provided  they  do  not  become  positively  disadvantageous 
in  the  sense  of  endangering  the  existence  of  the  race.  I  thus 
account  for  the  non-advantageous  intellectual  faculties  now  under 
discussion.  Just  how  and  why  they  thus  varied  has  already  been 
shown. 

We  are  not  without  analogies  among  organic  structures  and  they 
are  also  found  among  social  structures.  Of  the  former  the  more 
extravagant  secondary  sexual  characters,  such  as  the  antlers  of  an 
elk  which  so  greatly  impede  his  movement  through  the  dense  forest, 
are  among  the  best  examples.  But  we  only  need  to  look  for  them 
to  find  them  everywhere.  The  idea  that  everything  organic  must 
necessarily  be  useful  in  the  struggle  for  existence  is  one  of  those 
extremes  to  which  the  doctrine  of  natural  selection  at  first  led 
naturalists,  and  which  has  had  to  be  combated  with  a  large  amount 
of  evidence.  It  may  be  said  to  be  fairly  exploded  now,  though  still 
defended  by  some.  But  a  mere  glance  at  the  organic  world  as 
a  whole  is  sufficient  to  show  that  the  precise  forms  it  presents  are 
largely  indifferent.  Almost  any  other  form  would  have  done  about 
as  well  in  most  cases,  and  the  actual  forms  are  practically  fortuitous. 
I  showed  this  for  the  genus  Eupatorium  (see  supra,  p.  241),  a  very 
simple  case  but  specially  appropriate  and  instructive.  The  different 
forms,  which  constitute  the  several  species,  doubtless  resulted  from 
fortuitous  variation  or  "  mutation."  There  was  no  reason  why  such 
forms  should  not  exist.  The  variations,  though  non-advantageous, 
were  not  disadvantageous,  and  there  was  therefore  nothing  to  pre- 
vent them  from  taking  place.  Any  genus  of  plants  or  animals 
would  serve  the  same  purpose. 

Among  social  structures  the  best  examples  of  this  law  are  to  be 
found  among  religions.  Religion  must  have  been  primarily  an 
advantageous  social  structure,  otherwise  it  could  not  have  come  into 
existence.  I  have  pointed  out  in  what  religion  essentially  consists 
as  such  an  advantageous  social  structure.  The  existence  of  the 
human  race  seems  at  a  certain  stage  to  have  depended  upon  the 
group  sentiment  of  safety  and  the  means  of  enforcing  it  against 
the  wayward  tendencies  of  a  rapidly  developing  egoistic  intellect, 


502  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

destitute  of  all  knowledge  as  to  the  consequences  of  the  acts 
prompted  by  it.  This  constitutes  an  adequate  explanation  of  the 
origin  of  religion.  But  religion  once  established,  it  soon  began  to 
vary,  until  now  there  are  more  religions  than  there  are  races  of  men. 
Many  of  these  variations  were  wholly  non-advantageous.  Some  of 
them  were  doubtless  disadvantageous.  A  considerable  amount  of 
disadvantageous  variation  may  take  place,  only  it  must  not  go  to 
the  length  of  endangering  the  race.  Probably  most  religions  are 
now  somewhat  disadvantageous.  Certainly  the  adherents  of  any 
religion  would  admit  this  of  all  the  rest,  and  even  exaggerate  their 
disadvantageousness. 

Returning  to  the  intellectual  faculties,  we  find  the  same  to  have 
been  true.  The  relief  from  physical  want  which  the  system  of 
caste  and  the  formation  of  a  leisure  class,  both  sacerdotal  and 
political,  during  the  early  metasocial  period,  afforded,  set  free  a 
large  volume  of  intellectual  energy  hitherto  expended  in  the  struggle 
for  existence,  and  it  took  a  variety  of  directions.  It  was  shown  in 
Chapter  V  that  the  growth  force,  or  primary  bathmism  of  nature, 
pushes  out  in  all  conceivable  directions,  as  from  the  center  of  a 
sphere.  It  may  be  added  that  the  intellectual  impulse  does  the 
same,  and  unless  it  meets  with  insuperable  obstacles  it  will  compass 
every  field  of  nature.  Its  own  innate  interest  constitutes  its  abun- 
dant motive  power.  The  exercise  of  the  intellectual  faculties  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  during  countless  ages  had  developed  them  to 
a  very  high  degree,  and,  according  to  Weismann's  theory  above 
quoted,  if  the  volume  is  present,  the  direction  the  impulse  will  take 
depends  on  circumstances.  Freed  now  from  egoistic  exercise,  this 
accumulated  intellectual  capital  is  liberally  invested  in  disinter- 
ested, or  non-advantageous  projects.  It  is  no  longer  held  by  the 
principle  of  advantage  to  any  fixed  course,  and  it  goes  off  on  strange 
lines  and  does  unheard-of  things.  It  may  be  compared  to  the  erratic 
variations  in  color  that  animals  and  birds  undergo  in  domestication. 
In  the  wild  state  the  color  is  definitely  fixed  for  each  species.  Pro- 
tective imitation,  sexual  selection,  and  a  variety  of  influences  have 
finally  combined  to  give  each  species  its  fixed  color  within  certain 
limits  of  variation,  which  are  also  fixed.  But  no  sooner  is  the 
bird  or  animal  fully  domesticated,  so  that  all  these  influences 
are  removed,  than  it  begins  to  take  on  different  colors.  Birds 
become  pied  and  animals  striped  and  spotted.  Doubtless  these 


CH.  xvin]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  503 

variations  are  ancestral  and  atavistic,  but  they  could  not  appear  in 
the  wild  state.  Neither  can  this  be  explained  by  the  mixing  of 
breeds,  for  it  is  true  of  the  turkey,  which  has  no  other  wild  species 
or  variety  with  which  it  could  be  crossed  under  domestication. 

There  is  another  and  very  different  comparison  that  might  be 
made.  The  conditions  of  existence  in  human  society,  even  in  what 
we  call  advanced  societies,  closely  resemble  those  which  nature  pre- 
sents in  wild  animals.  Men  are  restricted  to  certain  kinds  of  action 
that  are  practically  fixed,  like  the  colors  of  animal  species.  Any 
one  who  does  anything  that  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  these 
prescribed  forms  of  action  is  not  considered  sane,  although  the  act 
may  be  entirely  harmless.  All  the  permissible  acts  are  what  are 
called  "  practical."  They  tend  in  one  form  or  another  to  preserve 
existence.  No  matter  how  wealthy  a  man  may  be,  if  he  does  any- 
thing that  does  not  tend  to  acquiring  more  wealth,  he  is  suspected 
of  becoming  unbalanced  in  his  mind.  This  social  tyranny  is  more 
marked  in  rural  and  backward  districts  and  is  slightly  relieved  in 
cities,  and  especially  in  educational  centers,  watering  places,  and 
health  and  pleasure  resorts,  but  it  is  nowhere  entirely  absent.  One 
cannot  do  anything  which  promises  no  gain,  is  not  connected  with 
some  fashionable  game  or  practice,  and  differs  markedly  from  what 
a  considerable  number  habitually  do,  without  being  set  down  at 
least  as  a  "crank,"  if  not  as  a  suspicious  character  or  insane 
person.1 

Now  the  real  elite  of  mankind,  not  the  wealthy  nor  the  influential, 
but  those  who  use  their  reason  most  and  who  possess  the  largest 
stock  of  both  knowledge  and  ideas,  will  not  slavishly  follow  the 
herd,  but  are  erratic  and  do  just  such  things  as  lead  the  mass  of 
mankind  to  look  upon  them  with  suspicion.  They  rise  above  both 
gain  and  fashion,  and  persistently  violate  the  code  of  social  action 

1  In  Washington  the  warm  weather  often  holds  •  on  through  October  and  into 
November,  the  thermometer  often  reaching  80°  or  85°  Fahr.  Once  in  such  a  season  I 
started  out  for  a  ramble  in  the  early  days  of  November,  and  with  a  view  to  com- 
fort I  donned  the  straw  hat  that  I  had  worn  all  summer.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
weather  to  oppose  such  a  proceeding,  as  it  was  a  very  warm  day.  As  I  passed  along 
the  streets  I  soon  noticed  that  I  was  attracting  attention.  Men  and  women  looked 
at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  are  out  of  fashion  "  ;  "  There  goes  a  crank."  But  the 
boys,  who,  like  savages,  are  much  more  bound  by  convention  than  grown  people, 
mocked  me  openly,  crying  out  :  "  What  are  you  doing  with  that  straw  hat  ?  This 
ain't  summer  ;  this  is  November,"  etc.  This  example  shows  how  completely  inde- 
pendent this  social  coercion  is  of  all  considerations  of  utility  and  of  all  intrinsic 
reasonableness  growing  out  of  the  nature  of  things. 


504  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

and  rules  of  propriety.  This  typifies  the  emancipated  intellect 
everywhere,  and  although  the  leisure  class  was  a  ruling  class  and 
not  under  the  influence  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  still  it  found  itself 
emancipated  from  all  forms  of  restraint,  and  those  members,  always 
of  course  relatively  few  in  number,  who  took  pleasure  in  intellectual 
exercise  could  freely  follow  the  lines  of  least  resistance  and  greatest 
attraction,  and  could  follow  these  lines  fully  out  to  their  extreme 
logical  conclusions. 

Philosophy  began  as  speculation.  Facts  or  supposed  facts  of 
course  lay  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Perceptions,  conceptions,  and  ideas 
were  in  the  minds  of  those  early  speculators,  but  they  were  little 
controlled,  and  imagination  was  scarcely  differentiated  from  observa- 
tion. Although  thought  took  many  directions,  often  wild  and  fan- 
tastic, the  body  of  primitive  speculation  was  confined  to  two  great 
fields,  which  may  be  called  respectively  cosmology  and  noology. 
Neither  of  these  can  probably  be  said  to  have  had  priority  over  the 
other,  but  certainly  the  phenomena  of  mind  claimed  the  attention  of 
man  as  early  as  did  those  of  the  external  world.1 

This  extremely  early  study  of  mind  is  a  sort  of  anthropomorphism. 
Just  as  primitive  men  understood  life  because  they  possessed  it,  and 
ascribed  all  movement  to  living  beings  like  themselves,  so  the  first 
thinkers  understood  mind  because  they  possessed  it,  and  not  only 
projected  their  own  intelligence  into  all  nature,  but  proceeded  to 
speculate  upon  mind  before  they  did  upon  matter.  This  form  of 
speculation  was  practically  sterile,  but  it  was  fascinating,  and  had 
the  subjective  advantage  of  cultivating  and  refining  the  thinking 
powers  in  a  way  that  nothing  else  could  do.  Philosophers  never 
abandoned  this  field  and  are  still  tilling  it,  almost  as  fruitlessly  as  at 
first.  It  never  yielded  any  valuable  results  until  it  was  cross  fertil- 
ized by  the  germs  of  objective  science  and  metaphysics  was  trans- 
formed into  psychology.  Nevertheless  an  enormous  amount  of 
sublimated  intellectual  energy  has  been  expended  on  mind,  and 
only  extreme  Weismannians  will  deny  that  mind  has  been  thereby 
exalted. 

The  study  of  the  Cosmos,  on  the  other  hand,  which  must  have 

1  Professor  Breasted  thinks  that  the  word  "  heart "  in  the  inscription  on  the  stone 
taken  from  the  temple  of  Ptah  at  Memphis,  signifies  mind,  and  the  context,  so  far  as 
he  was  able  to  decipher  it,  seems  to  bear  out  this  interpretation.  He  refers  the  in- 
scription to  the  eighteenth  dynasty,  or  about  the  sixteenth  century  before  Christ. 
See  his  article  in  the  Monixt  for  April,  1902,  Vol.  XII,  pp.  321-326. 


CH.  xvm]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  505 

begun  at  about  the  same  time,  was  fertile  from  the  start,  and  all  that 
we  know  of  the  universe,  including  mind,  has  resulted  from  it.  This 
is  why  it  is  beginning  to  be  seen  that  the  true  Greek  philosophers 
were  not  Socrates  and  Plato,  but  Thales  and  Pythagoras,  and  espe- 
cially their  talented  contemporaries  and  followers,  Anaximander, 
Anaximenes,  Heraclitus,  Empedocles,  Anaxagoras,  and  Democritus. 
These  may  all  be  called  cosmologists,  although  their  theories  differed 
greatly,  and  some  of  them  combined  the  study  of  mind  with  that  of 
nature.  The  form  of  speculation  that  seems  to  lie  between  thought 
and  things  and  bind  them  together  is  mathematics,  or  as  the  Greeks 
chiefly  understood  it,  geometry.  This  presented  a  peculiarly  at- 
tractive field,  since  it  was  free  from  the  encumbrance  of  concrete 
objects,  and  dealt  with  relations,  or,  popularly  speaking,  abstract 
ideas.  Geometry  was  taught  by  Thales  and  Pythagoras  and  it  was 
a  favorite  study  of  Plato.  It  harmonized  well  with  speculations 
about  mind,  but  it  proved  fruitful  of  results,  and  at  the  hands  of 
Euclid  it  has  come  to  constitute  the  basis  of  all  knowledge  of  quan- 
tity. The  various  forms  of  calculus,  as  also  our  convenient  "  Arabic  " 
notation,  were  probably  excogitated  from  the  brains  of  Brahminic 
priests  contemporary  with  or  earlier  than  the  Greek  philosophers 
named. 

At  that  date,  when  so  little  was  known  of  the  concrete  facts  of 
nature,  mathematical  study  and  abstract  speculation  were  more 
profitable  than  reasoning  about  material  facts,  because  all  theories 
of  the  imiverse  that  could  be  formed  from  such  imperfect  data  must 
be  extremely  vague  and  largely  false.  Yet  when  we  remember  that 
not  only  the  true  nature  of  the  solar  system,  but  also  the  atomic 
theory  of  chemistry  and  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  were  all  formu- 
lated by  the  Greek  cosmologists  so  that  they  can  be  readily  recog- 
nized by  modern  science,  we  are  in  position  to  form  an  estimate  of 
the  power  of  the  thinking  faculty  to  comprehend  nature.  These 
conclusions  were  reached  not  by  "  abstract  reasoning,"  but  by  gen- 
eralization. With  any  considerable  number  of  concrete  facts  to 
reason  from,  generalization  is  a  far  more  important  process  than 
abstraction.  It  leads  to  truth  in  the  proper  sense,  i.e.,  the  relation 
of  agreement  or  disagreement  of  conceptions,  ideas,  and  groups  or 
clusters  of  these.  It  classifies  phenomena  and  coordinates  facts, 
phenomena  and  ideas,  establishing  comprehensive  laws.  This  is 
true  philosophy,  and  so  long  as  error  can  be  avoided  every  exercise 


506  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

of  mind  in  this  direction  increases  man's  acquaintance  with  his 
environment  and  with  the  world  at  large. 

Error  is  of  course  primarily  due  to  insufficient  knowledge,  but  an 
even  more  prolific  source  of  error  has  in  fact  been  supplied  by  false 
cosmogonies.  In  one  sense  these  false  cosmogonies  may  be  regarded 
as  the  excogitations  of  the  human  mind,  but  they  have  not  usually 
been  the  work  of  philosophers  striving  to  explain  the  universe. 
They  have  been  invented  by  the  priesthood  in  support  of  the  ecclesi- 
astical power  as  a  means  of  more  easily  and  effectively  enforcing  the 
group  sentiment  of  race  safety  and  checking  wayward  tendencies. 
In  short  the  false  cosmogonies  that  have  most  impeded  the  progress 
of  truth  have  formed  an  integral  part  of  the  various  religious  sys- 
tems of  the  world.  Thus  they  effectually  prevented  the  general 
acceptance  of  all  except  the  mathematical  truth  arrived  at  by  the 
Greek  philosophers,  and  when  after  nearly  two  thousand  years  these 
truths  were  rediscovered  and  scientifically  demonstrated,  these  false 
cosmogonies  reacted  powerfully  against  their  propagation  and  general 
acceptance. 

But  observation  as  well  as  speculation  has  always  gone  on.  Many 
minds  are  not  specially  constituted  for  abstraction  and  generalization, 
but  take  pleasure  in  observation,  and  when  freed  from  want  and  ex- 
empted from  the  struggle  for  existence  such  minds  amuse  themselves 
by  exploring  their  surroundings,  noting  and  perhaps  recording  rare 
and  peculiar  facts  and  phenomena,  accumulating  "curiosities"  in 
private  museums,  and  in  many  ways,  perhaps  unintentionally, 
increasing  human  knowledge.  Many  of  the  Greeks  belonged  to 
this  class,  especially  during  the  later  centuries,  and  Aristotle 
possessed  the  observational  attribute  in  a  high  degree,  while 
Theophrastus  and  Dioscorides  might  almost  be  called  naturalists. 
The  Alexandrian  school  supplied  other  observers,  notably  the  Ptole- 
mies', and  among  the  Romans  the  Plinies  were  not  alone.  The 
spirit  of  both  speculation  and  observation  smoldered  through  the 
Middle  Ages,  but  broke  out  anew  at  their  close  in  a  form  that 
could  not  again  be  smothered. 

All  know  the  history  of  science,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to 
point  out  the  fact  that  scientific  discovery,  as  it  has  gone  on  during 
the  last  five  centuries,  and  especially  the  last  two  centuries,  is  noth- 
ing else  than  a  revival  of  the  philosophic  genius  of  antiquity,  this 
time  applied  to  an  enormously  increased  volume  of  facts.  The 


CH.  xvni]  PHILOSOPHIC   GENIUS  507 

spirit  of  observation  and  accumulation  was  never  suppressed,  and 
the  world  was  in  possession  of  a  large  supply  of  data  for  thinking 
even  in  the  time  of  Copernicus,  which  continued  to  increase  and  has 
.  never  ceased  to  accumulate.  It  is  often  forgotten  that  science, 
which  seems  to  have  burst  upon  the  world  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
had  been  incubating  during  the  previous  five  hundred  years,  and  could 
not  have  come  forward  in  the  manner  it  did  but  for  that  prolonged 
preparation.  No  matter  what  branch  we  study  we  are  always 
carried  back  at  least  to  the  fifteenth  century,  and  if  we  look 
critically  into  it  we  find  that  the  chief  reason  why  we  cannot  go 
back  still  farther  is  that  it  was  in  that  century  that  printing 
was  invented,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  record  prior  to  that 
event  is  lost  from  the  inability  to  preserve  manuscripts.  Still  a 
few  names,  such  as  those  of  Galen,  Avicenna,  Albertus  Magnus,  and 
Roger  Bacon,  stand  out  and  afford  a  hint  as  to  the  intellectual 
activity  of  those  earlier  ages.  As  soon  as  the  invention  of  printing 
made  possible  the  permanent  record  of  this  activity  the  historical 
perspective  shows  a  great  galaxy  of  names  of  men  whose  labors 
laid  the  foundations  for  every  branch  of  science.  Even  in  so 
relatively  obscure  a  branch  as  paleontology  we  find  during  the 
sixteenth  century  works  bearing  upon  the  subject  by  Alexander 
ab  Alexandro,  Agricola,  Matthiolus,  Gesner,  Libavius,  Kentmann, 
Balthasar  Klein,  Imperatus,  and  many  others,  and  there  were 
perhaps  a  hundred  museums  at  that  date  containing  fossils  and 
other  "  curiosities."  Geologists,  zoologists,  botanists,  all  find  that 
their  sciences  were  extensively  cultivated  all  through  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  the  pre-Linnsean  literature  of  natural  history  cannot 
be  ignored.  In  chemistry,  all  liberal-minded  persons  acknowledge 
their  debt  to  the  alchemists  who  are  found  scattered  all  through 
the  same  period  down  to  Roger  Bacon.  Mathematics  was  always 
cultivated  and  astronomy  was  revived  with  Copernicus,  Tycho 
Brahe,  Kepler,  Galileo,  and  Newton.  Medicine,  anatomy,  and 
physiology  were  not  wholly  neglected  between  Galen  and  Vesalius. 
And  so  it  was  with  all  forms  of  knowledge,  the  materials  for  its 
scientific  elaboration  were  accumulating  during  all  these  ages,  and 
the  solid  character  which  the  later  study  of  nature  took  on  was 
mainly  due  to  the  increased  volume  of  facts. 

The  philosophic  spirit  also   continued   to  exist,  and   with  these 
enlarged  resources  it  came  forward  in  great  force  at  about  the  same 


508  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

time  as  the  scientific  awakening.  Mathematicians  like  Newton, 
Descartes,  and  Leibnitz,  did  not  hesitate  to  philosophize.  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  and  Sir  Thomas  More  stand  out  conspicuously  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  Giordano  Bruno  and  Francis  Bacon  in  the  six- 
teenth, Spinoza;  Locke,  and  Hobbes  in  the  seventeenth.  The  early 
sociologists  should  also  be  mentioned,  beginning  with  Ibn  Khaldun 
in  the  fourteenth  century.  Hobbes  should  be  reckoned  among  these, 
and  must  be  classed  with  Vico  in  the  seventeenth  century.  But  it  was 
the  eighteenth  century  that  produced  the  largest  crop  of  this 
class  of  philosophers,  and  most  of  these  were  enumerated  in 
Chapter  IV  (supra,  p.  56).  Our  present  purpose  is  simply  to  show 
that  the  great  scientific  era  was  not  suddenly  inaugurated,  but  that 
it  had  a  long  and  ample  preparation  in  antecedent  ages,  without 
which  it  could  not  have  begun. 

I  have  not  made  a  fourth  division  of  the  non-advantageous  facul- 
ties, and  called  this  application  of  thought  to  things  scientific  genius, 
because,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  not  generically  distinct  from  philo- 
sophic genius,  especially  from  that  branch  of  it  which  took  the 
direction  of  cosmology.  The  only  difference  is  in  the  increased 
data  involving  a  more  exact  and  systematic  method.  I  have 
already  several  times  insisted  that  science  proper  consists  in 
reasoning  about  facts  and  not  in  the  accumulation  of  facts,  but 
the  ability  to  reason  soundly  depends  upon  the  possession  of  the 
facts  about  which  to  reason.  Neither  the  facts  without  the 
reasoning  nor  the  reasoning  without  the  facts  can  lead  to  scien- 
tific truth.  Science  is  mainly  interpretation,  and  interpretation  is 
a  special  kind  of  reasoning,  it  may  be  called  a  posteriori.  Huxley 
happily  characterized  it  as  "  the  method  of  Zadig." l  He  also  calls  it 

1  "The  Method  of  Zadig:  Retrospective  Prophesy  as  a  Function  of  Science,"  by 
Thomas  H.  Huxley,  Nineteenth  Century,  Vol.  VII,  No.  40,  June,  1880,  pp.  929-fHO. 

Professor  Huxley  placed  at  the  head  of  his  article  the  remark  made  by  Cuvier  in 
his  "Ossemens  Fossiles  "  (4th  ed.,  Vol.  I,  p.  185)  relative  to  the  significance  of  the 
tracks  of  cloven-footed  animals:  "  C'est  une  marque  plus  sure  que  toutes  celles  de 
Zadig."  This  was  undoubtedly  the  first  time  that  an  application  of  the  familiar 
stories  of  Zadig  had  been  made  to  the  scientific  method,  and  that  Cuvier  had  grasped 
their  full  force  is  clear  when  one  reads  what  precedes,  which  is  as  follows :  — 

"Quelqu'un  qui  voit  seulement  la  piste  d'un  pied  fourchu,  peut  en  couclure  que 
1'animal  qui  a  laisse  cette  empreinte  ruminait  ;  et  cette  conclusion  est  tout  aussi 
certaine  qu'aucune  autre  en  physique  ou  en  morale.  Cette  seule  piste  donne  done 
a  celui  qui  1'observe,  et  la  forme  des  dents,  et  la  forme  des  machoires,  et  la  forme 
des  vertebres,  etla  forme  de  tons  les  os  des  jambes,  des  cuisses,  des  epaules  et  du 
bassin  de  1'animal  qui  vient  de  passer:  c'est  une  marque  plus  sure  que  toutes  celles 
de  Zadig"  (pp.  184-185). 


CH.  xvni]  PHILOSOPHIC  GENIUS  509 

"  retrospective  prophesy,"  but  it  is  not  prophecy  at  all,  it  is  simply 
inference  from  induction,  which  always  involves  deduction.  It  is 
the  method  of  all  observational  science,  specially  characteristic  of 
geology,  but  true  also  of  all  the  physical  and  biological  sciences.  In 
physics  and  chemistry  the  difference  consists  chiefly  in  the  artificial 
production  of  many  of  the  facts  through  experimentation,  but  after 
the  phenomena  are  produced  the  method  is  the  same. 

We  have  thus  rapidly  passed  in  review  the  non-advantageous 
faculties  of  man.  The  term  non-advantageous  has  been  sufficiently 
defined  so  that  no  one  need  stumble  over  the  obvious  fact  that 
these  faculties  are  the  most  advantageous  of  all  to  mankind  at  large. 
The  distinction  may  be  characterized  as  that  between  individual  and 
social  advantage.  Individual  advantage  is  biological,  and  the  non-ad- 
vantageous faculties  can  only  be  said  to  have  a  biologic  origin  in  that 
they  are  genetically  derived  from  the  advantageous  faculties  under 

A  year  earlier  than  Professor  Huxley's  article  Mr.  Andrew  Wilson  in  an  article 
entitled:  " Clues  and  Traces  in  Natural  History,"  contributed  to  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  for  March,  1879  (Vol.  CCXLIV,  pp.  292-309),  notes  Cuvier's  expression  and 
translates  it  into  English  ("  is  a  surer  mark  than  all  those  of  Zadig  "). 

Professor  Huxley's  resources  for  information  relative  to  Zadig  seem  to  have  heen 
confined  to  what  he  gleaned  from  the  romance  of  Voltaire  so  entitled  ("  Zadig  ou  la 
Destine'e."  Histoire  Orientale.  GEuvres  Completes  de  Voltaire,  Paris,  1784,  Vol. 
XLIV,  Romans,  Vol.  I,  pp.  1-100),  and  he  gives  the  same  story  as  Voltaire,  viz.,  "Le 
chien  et  le  cheval  "  (Chapter  III).  But  there  is  another  story,  viz.,  the  story  of  the 
lost  camel,  not  mentioned  by  Voltaire  or  Huxley,  which  is  much  more  familiar  to 
most  persons,  and  embodies  the  same  lesson.  Voltaire's  authority  from  the  historical 
point  of  view,  is,  as  Huxley  intimates,  valueless,  but  he  professes  to  date  it  from  the 
year  837  of  the  Hegira.  That  all  these  stories  go  much  farther  back  is  certain.  A 
thorough  investigation  shows  that  the  story  of  the  camel  occurs  in  the  Synhedrin 
(fol.  104a-104&),  and  is  thus  a  part  of  the  Talmud.  I  personally  remember  that  this 
story  occurred  in  one  of  the  school  "  readers  "  used  in  America  during  my  youth;  it 
was  therefore  familiar  to  me. 

For  the  above  information  and  the  loan  of  an  extensive  literature  of  the  subject, 
to  which  justice  cannot  be  done  in  a  footnote,  I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  indebted- 
ness to  Dr.  Cyrus  Adler,  Librarian  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  a  well-known 
Hebrew  scholar  and  acknowledged  authority  on  Semitic  and  other  Oriental  literature. 
Among  the  works  consulted  should,  however,  be  mentioned  the  rare  volume  entitled: 
"  A  Group  of  Eastern  Romances  and  Stories  from  the  Persian,  Tamil,  and  Urdu," 
with  Introduction,  Notes,  and  Appendix,  by  W.  A.  Clouston,  privately  printed,  1879 
(see  pp.  194  ff,  511) ;  and  the  new  annotated  edition  of  the  Talmud  with  German  and 
Hebrew  in  parallel  columns,  now  being  published  but  not  completed,  the  last  fascicle 
of  which  to  appear  chanced  to  contain  the  story  of  the  lost  camel  (Der  Babylonische 
Talmud.  Herausgegeben  nach  der  editio  princeps,  Venedig,  1520-23,  nebst  varianten 
der  spaeteren  von  S  Lorja  und  J  Berlin  redivirten  Ausgaben  und  der  Muenchener 
Handschrift,  nach  Rabb.  VL,  moeglichst  wortgetreu  uebersetzt  und  mit  kurzen 
Erklaerungen  versehen  von  Lazarus  Goldschmidt.  Band  VII,  Civil-  und  Strafrecht. 
Zweite  Lieferung:  "  Des  Traktats  Synhedrin"  Zweite  Haelfte,  p.  461.  Synhedrin 
XI,  iij.  Fol.  104a-1046). 


510  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

the  influence  of  other  principles  than  natural  selection.  These  prin- 
ciples have  been  fully  explained,  and  it  has  been  shown  that  they 
are  not  confined  to  psychic  and  social  phenomena,  but  are  in  full 
operation  in  the  organic  world  and  probably  account  for  the  origin 
of  more  species  than  are  produced  by  natural  selection.  The  prin- 
ciples of  cross  fertilization,  of  atavism,  of  innovation,  of  "  mutation," 
are  everywhere  at  work  supplementing  natural  selection.  But  in 
the  social  world  we  have  the  added  influence  of  the  artificial  emanci- 
pation of  a  part  of  mankind  from  the  restraints  of  the  environment, 
analogous  to  domestication,  which  liberates  the  psychic  energy  and 
permits  a  large  surplus  to  expend  itself  in  biologically  non-advanta- 
geous ways,  some  of  which  have  proved  sociologically  advantageous, 
resulting  in  the  general  condition  described  in  Chapter  III  under  the 
name  of  achievement. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
THE  CONQUEST  OF  NATURE 

EQUIPPED  with  the  directive  agent  as  a  guide  to  the  dynamic 
agent,  that  "  favored  race  "  of  beings  called  man  set  out  on  a  career 
for  the  conquest  of  nature.  Throughout  his  prehuman  stage,  like 
the  rest  of  the  animal  world,  this  being  had  always  been  the  slave 
of  nature.  The  iron  law  of  competition  had  held  him  in  its  grasp  as 
it  holds  all  organic  beings.  His  was  a  struggle  for  existence  like 
the  rest,  but  he  proved  himself  the  fittest  to  survive  and  he  survived. 
By  a  series  of  accidents,  some  of  which  have  been  recorded  in  this 
work,  cephalization  found  in  him  its  highest  expression  and  brain 
became  a  factor  in  this  struggle.  Facile  princeps,  it  soon  gained  the 
lead,  and  from  that  time  on,  this  being,  thus  rendered  human,  dis- 
tanced all  competitors.  He  early  saw  the  advantage  of  association 
and  secured  the  added  benefit  of  the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  social. 
He  passed  through  all  the  stages  described  in  Chapters  X  to  XV,  and 
emerged  into  the  stage  of  compound  social  assimilation  with  a  mili- 
tary regime  of  exploitation,  a  sacerdotal  caste,  an  intermediate  and 
independent  free  business  element,  and  a  subordinate  slave  popula- 
tion. All  except  the  last  were  under  the  influence  of  one  or  more  of 
the  dynamic  principles  enumerated  in  Chapter  XI,  and  even  the 
slaves  felt  the  effect  of  the  cross  fertilization,  especially  in  the  form 
characterized  as  social  chemistry.  The  whole  mass  was  rising,  but 
parts  rose  with  special  rapidity,  the  business  element  through  the 
exercise  of  its  advantageous,  and  the  leisure  class  of  its  non-advan- 
tageous mental  faculties. 

What  I  have  called  a  paradox,  viz.,  that  "  the  artificial  is  superior 
to  the  natural,"  was  nevertheless  freely  acted  upon  as  a  truth  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  civilization,  and  no  progressive  race  has  ever  been 
content  with  the  natural.  Everywhere  and  always  the  environment, 
although  it  embodies  all  the  elements  of  existence,  has  obstructed 
human  progress,  has  withheld  the  necessary  supplies,  has  doled  out 
its  resources  in  a  niggardly  way,  and  has  starved  to  death  by  far  the 
greater  number  of  all  the  creatures  that  have  been  born.  It  began 

511 


512  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

thus  with  the  human  race,  but  with  its  intuitive,  egoistic  reason,  with 
its  inventive  faculty,  with  its  intellectual  prevision  and  telic  power, 
that  race  began  its  struggle  against  the  law  of  nature.  There  are 
philosophers  who  cry :  laissez  faire  I  but  every  step  that  man  has 
taken  in  advance,  every  invention  he  has  made,  all  art,  all  applied 
science,  all  achievement,  all  material  civilization,  has  been  the  re- 
sult of  his  persistent  refusal  to  let  things  alone,  and  of  his  determi- 
nation to  conquer  the  dominion  of  nature,  to  emancipate  himself 
from  his  bondage  to  nature,  and  to  become  master  of  nature  and  of 
nature's  powers.  The  laissez  faire  school  of  that  early  day  was  the 
priesthood,  who  looked  upon  every  attempt  to  control  the  powers  of 
nature  and  subject  them  to  the  will  of  man  as  an  attack  upon  the 
divine  order.  Such  anathemas  continued  to  be  hurled  at  impious 
inventors  and  blasphemous  discoverers  of  scientific  truth  far  down 
into  the  modern  era.  This  ecclesiastical  laissez  faire  policy,  often 
with  great  power  behind  it,  certainly  retarded  the  march  of  the  con- 
quering host  of  science  and  art,  but  nothing  could  repress  it,  and  it 
went  on  with  its  succession  of  triumphs  that  have  placed  the  his- 
toric races  where  we  find  them  to-day. 

It  was  found  that  under  the  law  already  formulated  that  while 
the  quantity  of  matter  and  motion  in  the  universe  is  unchangeable, 
the  mode  of  motion  is  capable  of  indefinite  change,  the  phenomena 
of  nature  are  susceptible  of  unlimited  modification,  and  the  environ- 
ment may  be  transformed  to  any  required  extent.  The  transforma- 
tion of  the  environment  in  the  direction  of  utility,  i.e.,  of  human 
advantage,  is  no  more  difficult  than  in  any  other  direction.  It  was 
therefore  simply  a  question  of  knowing  how  to  accomplish  this,  and 
knowledge  of  this  kind  is  that  which  underlies  invention.  It  was 
also  discovered  that  when  the  requisite  knowledge  is  possessed,  use- 
ful transformations  are  easy,  in  other  words,  that  nature  is  easily 
managed  by  intelligence.  The  earliest  operations  of  this  class  were 
what  are  called  empirical.  Empiricism  may  be  distinguished  from 
science  as  being  the  result  of  intuition  instead  of  investigation. 
The  utilities  are  sufficiently  simple  to  be  seen  without  special  re- 
search, and  do  not  have  to  be  discovered  in  the  scientific  sense.  It 
is  said  that  art  precedes  science,  and  all  the  simpler  arts  of  uncivil- 
ized races  have  been  created  without  what  is  understood  by  scien- 
tific investigation.  But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  art  could  exist 
without  any  exercise  of  intellectual  faculties.  For  it  there  must 


CH.  xix]  THE   CONQUEST   OF   NATURE  513 

exist  in  the  mind  a  considerable  amount  of  knowledge  of  the  proper- 
ties of  bodies. 

Empirical  art  consists  chiefly  in  making  useful  things.  It  is  what 
I  characterized  in  Chapter  V  by  the  term  poesis.  It  deals  mostly 
with  different  substances  found  in  the  region  inhabited  by  the 
artisan.  It  has  mainly  to  do  with  properties  as  distinguished  from 
forces.  These  known  properties  are  perceived  to  contain  utilities, 
and  by  the  appropriate  transformation  of  the  substances  these  utili- 
ties are  realized.  One  of  the  most  universal  of  these  substances  is 
clay,  and  the  potter's  art,  which  is  very  early  and  widespread,  is  a- 
typical  empirical  art.  All  arts  are  attended  with  labor,  which  is 
chiefly  expended  in  multiplying  the  products  of  a  single  art,  often 
with  slavish  adherence  to  a  fixed  pattern.  But  a  certain  degree  of 
satisfaction  attends  the  making  of  an  artificial  thing,  and  Mr.  Veb- 
leii's  "instinct  of  workmanship"  sustains  many  a  weary  hour  of 
toil.  But  the  making  of  tools  and  weapons  contributed  much  more 
to  the  conquest  of  nature  than  did  the  culinary  and  domestic  arts, 
and  this  form  of  art  was  much  more  frequently  intrusted  to  men, 
women  being  the  principal  primitive  potters.  Tools,  first  of  rough, 
then  of  polished  stone,  then  of  copper  (usually,  but  probably  errone- 
ously called  bronze  by  archaeologists),  and  at  last  of  iron  after  the 
art  of  extracting  iron  from  its  ores  had  been  acquired,  have  been  the 
marks,  and  their  quality  the  measures  of  culture  in  the  progress  of 
the  race. 

At  length  in  some  of  the  later  stages  of  compound  assimilation 
man  began  to  see  utilities  in  certain  of  the  forces  of  nature,  pri- 
marily those  of  water  and  wind.  The  animal  ancestor  of  man,  like 
the  creatures  that  most  closely  approach  him  anatomically,  was 
probably  frugivorous,  but  his  large  size  rendered  an  arboreal  exist- 
ence difficult,  and  doubtless  compelled  him  to  lead  a  chiefly  terres- 
trial life.  Here  his  diet  must  take  a  wider  range,  and  it  is  well 
known  how  readily  herbivorous  animals  adopt  carnivorous  habit. 
That  man  began  his  career  as  a  practically  omnivorous  animal  is 
highly  probable,  his  taste  for  flesh  and  fish  must  necessarily  in- 
crease. Both  probably  began  with  the  consumption  of  invertebrates. 
The  extent  to  which  savages  now  live  on  shellfish  points  to  this, 
and  many  eat  large  larvae  and  even  insects.  To  catch  fish  and  mam- 
mals required  a  higher  form  of  cunning  than  man  first  possessed, 
and  birds  were  still  more  difficult  to  obtain. 

2L 


514  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

HUMAN  INVENTION 

I  use  the  adjective  human  because  there  is  a  widespread  belief 
that  animals  invent.  I  have  taken  considerable  pains  to  examine 
the  evidence  on  this  point,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  reject  it  all 
without  exception.  The  most  of  it  consists  of  mere  stories  told  by 
persons  without  the  scientific  habit  of  mind.  The  rest  is  for  the 
most  part  due  to  the  inability  even  of  scientific  minds  to  prevent 
projecting  their  own  intelligence  into  animals  and  ascribing  to  their 
acts  mental  conceptions  to  which  they  are  entirely  incapable  of 
attaining.  All  the  accounts  I  have  seen  of  apes  "  throwing  stones  " 
and  "  pelting  with  cocoanuts  "  are  unsupported  by  any  such  evidence 
as  such  seductively  anthropomorphic  ideas  as  these  require  before 
they  can  be  accepted  as  actual  facts.  I  grant  that  they  may  some- 
times loosen  stones  and  let  them  roll  down  a  steep  hill  or  drop  from 
a  crag,  and  that  they  may  detach  cocoanuts  and  cause  them  to  drop, 
mentally  realizing  that  in  both  cases  these  acts  may  kill  or  drive  off 
enemies  including  men.  But  that  they  attempt  to  direct  these  ob- 
jects as  missiles  intended  to  hit  their  enemies  is  thus  far  lacking 
in  adequate  proof,  and  must  be  scientifically  observed  and  carefully 
recorded  with  all  the  attendant  circumstances  before  it  can  be 
accepted.  With  regard  to  their  supposed  use  of  the  club  as  a 
weapon  of  attack  and  defense,  I  have  seen  nothing  during  the  past 
ten  years  to  change  the  result  arrived  at  in  the  "  Psychic  Factors  of 
Civilization "  (pp.  254,  255),  and  I  consider  all  such  statements  as 
equally  unproved. 

That  the  keen  imitative  powers  and  sharp  intuitive  cunning  of 
apes  and  other  animals  comes  very  near  to  intelligence  may  be  freely 
admitted,  and  I  for  one  would  certainly  withhold  nothing  from  them 
that  they  actually  possess,  but  science  admonishes  us  to  adhere  under 
all-  circumstances  to  the  established  truth.  It  is  only  a  step  from 
this  grade  of  cunning  to  that  which  could  arrange  a  pitfall  for  an 
unwary  animal  or  a  rude  snare  for  a  fish.  The  earliest  man,  driven 
by  the  necessities  of  existence,  took  this  step,  and  it  was  devices  such 
as  these  that  constituted  the  first  inventions.  Nothing  could  be 
more  interesting  than  a  list  of  the  truly  primitive  inventions.  This 
of  course  can  never  be  drawn  up,  because  there  are  no  absolutely 
primitive  races,  and  archaeology  begins  much  too  high  in  the  series. 
But  there  have  been  some  tolerably  satisfactory  approaches  toward 


CH.  xix]  HUMAN   INVENTION  515 

the  preparation  of  such  a  list.  The  art  of  making  fire  is  usually 
regarded  as  among  the  earliest,  but  when  we  remember  that  the 
human  race  almost  certainly  first  emerged  from  the  animal  state  at 
some  point  within  the  tropics  we  may  well  believe  that  there  were 
other  things  more  important  than  fire.  Topinard  says :  — 

The  making  of  tools  or  of  means  of  defense  against  wild  animals  was 
without  doubt  the  first  step  taken  by  man  in  the  domain  of  intellect.  I 
take  it  that  the  discovery  of  the  means  of  obtaining  fire  was  not  made  until 
some  time  later :  among  the  lowest  savages  with  whom  we  are  acquainted, 
we  find  legends  relating  to  this  discovery,  but  none  concerning  the  origin  of 
the  simplest  weapons.1 

As   to  what  these   primitive  tools   and   weapons   were   Spencer 

says :  — 

As  aids  to  teeth  and  hands,  the  primitive  man  had  nothing  beyond  such 
natural  products  as  lay  around  him  —  bowlders,  shells  collected  on  the  beach, 
bones,  horns,  and  teeth  from  the  animals  he  had  killed  or  found  dead, 
branches  torn  from  trees  by  storms.  Roughly  speaking,  sticks  and  stones 
were  his  too]^,  and  the  sticks  were  necessarily  unshapen  ;  for  he  had  nothing 
wherewith  to  cut  their  ends  or  smooth  their  surfaces.  As  alleged  by  Gen- 
eral Pitt-Rivers,  and  shown  by  his  collection,  the  stick  was  the  parent  of  a 
group  of  implements  —  diggers,  clubs,  spears,  boomerangs,  throwing-sticks, 
shields,  paddles ;  and  only  in  courses  of  ages  did  the  unimaginative  savage 
produce  these  derived  forms.2 

And  he  proceeds  to  show  the  necessary  steps  in  the  further  devel- 
opment of  these  arts,  as  it  would  be  appropriate  to  do  here  had  it 
not  been  so  often  done  by  others.  Almost  the  same  was  said  much 
earlier  by  Letourneau,3  but  he  dwells  more  especially  on  the  early 
invention  of  the  bow  and  the  sling.  At  a  later  date  this  author 
makes  the  following  just  but  significant  remark :  — 

There  is  one  especially  striking  fact  in  primitive  industry,  viz.,  the  essen- 
tial similarity  of  the  first  instruments,  tools,  or  arms,  invented  by  all  races 
throughout  the  whole  world.  In  every  place  similarity  of  materials,  wants, 
and  organs  has  produced  almost  identical  results.4 

Professor  Emil  Du  Bois-Reymond  was  dealing  with  a  much  more 
extended  period  and  one  coming  farther  down  in  the  history  of  man- 

1  "Science  and  Faith,  or  Man  as  an  Animal  and  Man  as  a  Member  of  Society," 
by  Paul  Topinard ;  translated  by  Thomas  J.  McCormack,  Chicago,  1899,  p.  145. 

2  "Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  Ill,  New  York,  1897,  p.  328  (§  723). 
8  "  La  Sociologie,"  etc.,  p.  564. 

4  Revue  Internationale  de  Sociologie,  IXe  Annee,  octobre,  1901,  p.  722. 


516  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

kind,  when,  in  his  address  before  the  Scientific  Lectures  Association 
of  Cologne  in  1878,  speaking  of  the  "  first  tools,"  he  said :  — 

These  were  invented,  not  by  one  man,  nor  at  one  spot  upon  the  earth,  but 
by  many,  and  at  points  very  distant  from  one  another.  Thus  originated 
levers,  rollers,  wedges,  and  axes ;  clubs  and  spears ;  slings,  sarbacands,  las- 
sos ;  bows  and  arrows ;  oars,  sails,  and  rudders ;  fishing  nets,  lines,  and 
hooks;  finally,  the  use  of  fire,  by  which,  as  by  speech,  man  is  best  distin- 
guished from  animals,  and  which  even  anatomically  stamps  him  with  the 
character  of  a  soot-stained  lung.  Man,  therefore,  at  an  early  period  was 
unquestionably  entitled  to  the  epithet  bestowed  upon  him  by  Benjamin 
Franklin  of  "  the  tool-making  animal." * 

Pottery,  as  already  remarked,  was  a  primitive  art,  but  could  not 
have  antedated  the  art  of  making  fire.  Professor  Ernst  Mach  thus 
describes  its  hypothetical  invention,  wrongly  ascribing  it  to  acci- 
dent :  — 

A  small  hole  in  the  ground  with  fire  kindled  in  it  constituted  the  primi- 
tive stove.  The  flesh  of  the  quarry,  wrapped  with  water  in  its  skin,  was 
boiled  by  contact  with  heated  stones.  Cooking  by  stones  was  also  performed 
in  wooden  vessels.  Hollow  gourds  were  protected  from  the  fire  by  coats  of 
clay.  Thus,  from  the  burned  clay  accidentally  originated  the  enveloping 
pot,  which  rendered  the  gourd  superfluous,  although  for  a  long  time  there- 
after the  clay  was  still  spread  over  the  gourd,  or  pressed  into  woven  wicker- 
work,  before  the  potter's  art  assumed  its  final  independence.  Even  then 
the  wicker-work  ornament  was  retained,  as  a  sort  of  attest  of  its  origin.2 

If  such  cases  are  to  be  classed  as  accidental  then  have  all  invention 
and  discovery  been  accidental.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that 
all  inventions  are  growths  due  to  the  successive  additions  of  small 
improvements  naturally  suggesting  themselves  in  the  manufacture 
of  the  products.  The  Patent  Office  makes  two  classes :  inventions 
and  improvements,  and  I  am  told  by  the  examiners  that  it  rarely 
happens  to  grant  a  patent  for  an  "invention,"  almost  everything, 
after  comparison  with  earlier  patents,  coming  properly  under  the 
head  of  an  "  improvement."  The  art  of  pottery  was  therefore  simply 
an  improvement,  or  a  series  of  improvements  upon  the  primitive  use 
of  clay  in  cooking. 

Mr.  George  lies 3  has  also  ventured  a  sketch  of  the  origin  of  pot- 
tery, which  agrees  well  with  that  of  Mach.  It  is  as  early  as  the 

1  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol.  XIII,  July,  1878,  p.  258. 

2  The  Monist,  Vol.  VI,  January,  1896,  p.  164. 

8  "  Flame,  Electricity  and  the  Camera:  Man's  Progress  from  the  First  Kindling 
of  Fire  to  the  Wireless  Telegraph  and  the  Photography  of  Color,"  New  York,  1900, 
pp.  27-28. 


CH.  xix]  HUMAN   INVENTION  517 

sacred  books  of  Sanchoniatho,1  who  ascribes  it  to  the  eighth  genera- 
tion of  men.     Letourneau  says :  — 

The  art  of  pottery  has  almost  everywhere  been  disdainfully  abandoned 
to  women,  which  is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  fact  that  this  essentially  primi- 
tive industry  was  invented  during  a  social  phase  in  which  the  chase  and 
war  were  the  manly  occupations,  at  a  time  also  when  the  care  of  the  kitchen 
was  left  entirely  to  the  weaker  sex.2 

Many  think  that  the  art  is  practically  the  invention  of  women, 
and  Professor  Mason 3  and  Dr.  A.  de  Neuville  *  have  shown  that 
many  of  the  most  useful  inventions  have  been  made  by  women.  It 
is  nevertheless  probably  true  and  certainly  quite  natural,  as  Have- 
lock  Ellis  maintains,8  that  the  inventions  and  arts  created  by  women 
are  of  a  severely  practical  character  and  do  not  in  their  hands  tend  to 
become  ornamental  or  esthetic. 

Glass  seems  to  have  been  the  natural  outgrowth  of  pottery  and  is 
very  old,  being  found  in  Egyptian  sarcophagi.  A  large  bead  of  glass 
was  found  at  Thebes  upon  which  was  inscribed  the  name  of  a  mon- 
arch who  reigned  1500  years  before  Christ,  and  their  ancient  monu- 
ments represent  the  glass-blowers  of  Egypt  as  a  flourishing  guild. 
But  they  did  not  apparently  understand  the  process  of  annealing 
glass.  That  was  a  modern  discovery.  The  Phenicians  manufac- 
tured it  for  export.  What  uses  it  was  put  to  is  difficult  to  say. 
Probably  it  was  chiefly  ornamental,  but  Layard  found  a  crystal  lens 
in  the  ruins  of  Nineveh,  and  we  have  seen  that  the  Egyptians  wrote 
inscriptions  on  glass.  Socrates  accused  the  sophists  of  wasting  their 
time  experimenting  with  burning  glasses,  but  neither  the  Greeks 
nor  Romans  employed  it  in  architecture,  and  windows  in  the  modern 
sense  were  unknown  to  the  ancients,  at  least  down  to  the  close  of 
classic  times.  At  the  time  Pompeii  was  buried  it  had  begun  to 
come  into  use,  as  certain  fragments  exhumed  seem  to  attest.  Hallam 
in  his  "  Middle  Ages,"  says  :  — 

The  two  most  essential  improvements  in  architecture  during  this  period, 
one  of  which  had  been  missed  by  the  sagacity  of  Greece  and  Rome,  were 

i  See  Lubbock,  "  Origin  of  Civilization,"  New  York,  1871,  p.  120. 

8  "  La  Sociologie,"  etc.,  p.  568. 

8  "Woman's  Share  in  Primitive  Culture,"  by  Otis  Tufton  Mason,  New  York, 
1894. 

4  "  Le  Genie  de  1'Invention  chez  les  femmes,"  Revue  des  Revues,  Vol.  XXXII,  Jan- 
uary, 1900,  pp.  182-190. 

6  "  Man  and  Woman,"  3d  ed..  London,  1902,  pp.  31(5-317. 


518  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

chimneys  and  glass  windows.  Nothing  apparently  can  be  more  simple  than 
the  former ;  yet  the  wisdom  of  ancient  times  had  been  content  to  let  the 
smoke  escape  by  an  aperture  in  the  center  of  the  roof.1 

The  bow  and  arrow  was  a  primitive  weapon,  being  found  in  the 
hands  of  most  of  the  lowest  savages,  and  also. among  the  relics  of 
the  lake  dwellers  of  Robenhausen.  The  arrow  was  probably  a 
modification  of  the  javelin  and  the  bow  the  result  of  a  series  of 
steps  in  contriving  means  of  hurling  it  with  greater  force  and 
accuracy. 

The  plow  grew  out  of  the  digger,  and  the  primitive  plow  had  no 
mold-board,  did  not  throw  a  furrow  to  one  side,  but  merely  scratched 
the  ground.  A  wooden  mold-board  was  introduced  much  later,  but 
the  iron  plowshare  was  not  invented  until  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

All  the  early  pre-Chaldean  arts  are  now  known  to  have  migrated 
northward  from  Southern  Asia,  and  the  archaeology  of  Middle  and 
Northern  Asia,  which  has  only  recently  been  studied,  is  throwing 
great  light  upon  the  direction  taken  by  the  streams  of  primitive 
migration.  If  it  can  be  completed  it  will  probably  fill  all  the  gaps 
between  Asiatic  and  American  civilizations.  In  the  primary  social 
differentiation  the  small  stream  that  penetrated  Kamchatka  and 
poured  across  Bering  Strait,  thus  ultimately  peopling  America,  was 
so  nearly  cut  off  from  the  great  mass  of  mankind  that  only  very  few 
of  the  cultural  advances  were  preserved,  and  American  civilization 
had  to  begin  almost  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  and  take  all  the  steps 
anew.  As  a  consequence  much  time  was  lost,  and  when  Columbus 
discovered  America  he  found  the  western  hemisphere  far  behind  the 
eastern  in  nearly  everything  that  relates  to  human  civilization. 
Nevertheless,  the  steps  that  had  been  taken  were  practically  the 
same  as  those  taken  in  the  Old  World  so  long  before,  and  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  with  sufficient  time  the  New  World  would  have 
substantially  repeated  the  history  of  the  Old.  But  the  conjuncture 
of  the  much  more  advanced  eastern  with  the  relatively  backward 
western  races  has  rendered  this  impossible,  and  now  the  latter  are 
doomed  to  absorption  by  the  former. 

Most  of  the  Greek  art  in  the  time  of  Homer  was  either  Egyptian 
or  Chaldean,  both  being  introduced  by  the  Phenicians.  Such  were 

1 "  View  of  the  State  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages,"  by  Henry  Hallam,  in  two 
volumes,  Ninth  Edition,  London,  1846,  Vol.  II,  p.  414. 


CH.  xix]  HUMAN   INVENTION  51 3 

the  arts  of  metal  working  (chiefly  bronze  and  iron),  weaving,  the 
construction  of  boats  and  war  chariots,  also  of  tripods,  which  con- 
stituted their  chairs,  and  of  such  houses  as  they  had.  Espinas  J 
says  that  they  "  were  acquainted  with  the  spindle  and  distaff,  the 
sail  boat,  the  bit,  the  bellows,  the  plow,  the  war  chariot,  the  car- 
riage, the  hinge,  the  lock,  the  auger,  the  bow,  the  turning  lathe,  the 
potter's  wheel,  the  balance."  From  the  Phenicians  they  imported 
"  prepared  fabrics,  wines,  oil,  and  intoxicants ;  papyrus  articles,  linen 
(an  exceedingly  important  product),  ointments,  prepared  spices, 
incense,  embalming-mixtures,  perfumes,  dyes,  and  drugs  from  Egypt, 
and  the  various  products  of  metal  work,  ornaments  and  weapons  of 
a  superior  quality."2  But  prior  to  the  Trojan  war  the  Greeks  were 
an  almost  exclusively  pastoral  people,  consisting  of  nomads  from 
the  east  who  had  conquered  the  original  less  aggressive  inhabitants 
and  reduced  them  to  slavery,  becoming  themselves  partially  fixed, 
and  subsisting  chiefly  upon  their  oxen  and  sheep  and  a  rude  agricul- 
ture. Nevertheless  they  did  not  know  the  use  of  cows'  milk  and 
had  not  learned  to  make  butter  or  cheese.  Eggs  are  not  mentioned 
in  the  "  Iliad  "  or  "  Odyssey,"  and  only  the  inhabitants  of  the  mari- 
time districts  used  salt,  although,  according  to  Sanchoniatho  it  was 
discovered  in  the  eleventh  generation  of  men.  They  reckoned  by  the 
decimal  system,  counting  their  fingers  like  other  barbarians.  They 
had  no  alphabet,  but  received  later  that  of  the  Phenicians  derived 
chiefly  from  Egypt,  so  that  until  that  time  those  great  epics  must 
have  been  simply  traditions  whose  preservation  was  intrusted  to 
priests  or  other  specially  appointed  guardians  to  hold  in  memory 
and  transmit  to  their  successors.  An  alphabet  and  the  art  of  writ- 
ing on  papyrus  or  something  more  manageable  than  stone,  glass, 
and  metal,  must  therefore  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  great  steps 
in  civilization.  Down  to  the  time  when  Ctesibius  of  Alexandria 
invented  the  clepsydra,  time  was  kept  by  the  sun-dial,  invented  by 
the  Babylonians  and  mentioned  in  the  Bible  (Isaiah  xxxviii,  8). 
The  power  of  steam  was  known  and  the  principle  embodied  in 
Hero's  engine,  but  no  practical  use  was  made  by  the  ancients  of  so 
important  a  discovery.  The  extensive  public  works  of  the  Romans 
prove  that  some  of  the  most  important  principles  of  engineering, 

1  "Les  Origines  de  la  Technologic,"  par  Alfred  Espinas,  Paris,  1897,  p.  45  (chiefly 
on  the  authority  of  Hultsch  and  Bliimner). 

2  "  Homeric  Society,"  by  A.  G.  Keller,  New  York,  1902,  p.  19. 


520  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

including  those  of  the  arch  and  the  catenary,  had  been  worked  out 
and  applied. 

It  thus  appears  that  the  stream  of  human  thought,  intelligence, 
and  inventive  power  moved  westward  from  Southern  Asia  to  Chal- 
dea,  Egypt,  and  Asia  Minor,  thence  to  Greece  and  Italy,  and  that 
from  the  Mediterranean  shores  it  slowly  spread  to  Western  and 
Northern  Europe.1  In  these  regions  had  been  formed  all  the  most 
highly  assimilated  races,  and  here  were  slowly  worked  out,  on  the 
principles  set  forth  in  Chapter  X,  all  the  great  historic  nations 
through  which  had  been  maintained  that  continuity  of  the  social 
plasm  by  which  nothing  was  lost  and  every  increment  to  civilization 
represented  a  gain  and  an  advance  beyond  all  that  had  been  accom- 
plished before.  The  movement  that  took  place  along  more  northern 
lines,  from  Central  Asia  to  Northern  Europe,  had  a  different  char- 
acter. Although  the  ethnic  elements  were  practically  the  same  — 
rather  more  of  the  Aryan  and  less  of  the  Semitic,  but  somewhat  of 
a  Turanian  composition — they  represented  more  of  a  peripheral  and 
penumbral  population  lying  originally  on  the  margin  of  the  primary 
nucleus  and  hence  less  thoroughly  assimilated,  socialized,  and  civil- 
ized. Even  these  had  been  preceded  ages  before  by  still  less 
cemented  peoples  whom  they  found  occupying  all  Europe,  and 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  subjugate  and  incorporate.  Compared 
therefore  with  the  Mediterranean  elements  these  northern  peoples 
during  the  ascendency  of  Home  were  "  barbarians,"  and  with  the  ag- 
gressive attempts  of  the  Eomans  to  conquer  them  and  add  them  to 
the  empire,  followed  by  the  nemesis  of  barbarian  invasion  of  Koine, 
there  resulted  the  necessity  of  assimilating  the  entire  mass,  which 
caused  an  apparent  retrograde  movement  and  seemed  to  lower  the 
status  of  civilization  in  the  Mediterranean  region.  This  was  further 
complicated  by  the  vast  religious  revolution  attendant  upon  the  sub- 
stitution of  Christianity  not  only  for  the  pagan  cults  but  also  for  all 
the  barbaric  cults.  The  consequence  was  nearly  fifteen  hundred 
years  of  apparent  intellectual  stagnation.  Yet  even  this  long  period 
was  not  wholly  fruitless.  Here  and  there  a  flicker  of  inventive 
genius  flashed  up,  as  when  the  Saracen,  Ebn  Junis,  at  the  end  of 
the  tenth  century  invented  the  pendulum;  when  the  compass,  per- 
haps invented  by  the  Chinese,  and  certainly  used  by  them  in  travel- 
ing overland,  found  its  way  to  Europe  and  was  applied  to  water 
i  Cf .  Humboldt,  "  Cosmos,"  Vol.  II,  B,  I ;  Bagehot,  "  Physics  and  Politics,"  p.  52. 


CH.  xix]  HUMAN  INVENTION  521 

navigation ;  when  gunpowder,  likewise  of  Asiatic  origin,  but  hitherto 
only  used  for  pyrotechnic  display,  was  applied  to  projectiles  and 
became  an  engine  of  war ;  or  when  the  Saracens  invented  a  process 
of  making  paper  from  linen  rags  and  cotton.  Even  the  great  art  of 
printing,  whose  invention  broke  the  spell,  had  been  independently 
invented  in  China  and  was  actually  brought  to  Europe  by  Venetian 
navigators. 

The  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century  marks  the  beginning  of  the 
modern  era.  The  invention  and  practical  application  of  the  art  of 
printing  was  the  turning  point,  but  a  long  train  of  other,  often  ap- 
parently independent  inventions  and  discoveries  quickly  followed. 
Oil  painting  came  forward,  completely  superseding  the  wax  painting 
of  the  ancients,  and  leading  the  way  to  the  Renaissance.  Engraving 
on  copper,  invented  in  1460,  gave  birth  to  a  new  art  and  helped  to 
swell  the  stream.  The  sixteenth  century  stands  out  most  promi- 
nently, because  it  required  half  a  century  for  the  art  of  printing  to 
begin  to  bear  fruit.  Leonardo  da  Vinci  lived  into  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury ;  Giordano  Bruno  just  lived  it  out,  as  did  Tycho  Brahe ;  Galileo, 
Descartes,  Francis  Bacon,  and  Harvey  did  much  of  their  work  in  it, 
but  continued  it  far  into  the  seventeenth.  The  sixteenth  century 
produced  the  telescope  and  the  microscope,  at  least  in  their  rudi- 
ments, also  the  thermometer  and  the  camera  obscura.  The  vernier 
and  proportional  dividers  were  useful  accessories  to  scientific  work. 
Clocks  and  watches  came  forward  run  by  weights,  but  it  took 
another  century  to  evolve  the  spring.  Mills  for  grinding  grain  were 
invented  in  the  fifth  century  and  were  driven  by  water  power,  but 
the  flour  was  unbolted  and  the  bran  and  hulls  were  all  ground  to- 
gether. Now  a  bolting  machine  was  invented  and  thenceforth  men 
might  have  white  flour.  Heretofore  they  had  always  eaten  with 
their  fingers,  for  chop-sticks  were  unknown  in  the  West.  Now 
some  unknown  genius  invented  forks.  Such  are  a  few  of  the  six- 
teenth-century inventions,  but  it  would  require  pages  merely  to 
enumerate  them  all.  Indeed  there  are  always  many  the  date  of 
which  cannot  be  ascertained,  and  still  more  that  are  so  completely 
the  products  of  natural  evolution  by  minute  accretions  that  they  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  an  origin. 

The  steam  engine  in  the  modern  sense  was  preeminently  the  child 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  although  it  required  the  entire  century 
to  invent  it.  Beginning  with  Giambattista  Porta's  advance  upon 


522  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

Hero's  engine,  made  in  the  first  year  of  the  century,  and  passing 
through  the  successive  improvements  of  Caus,  1615,  Branca,  1629, 
Worcester,  1650,  Papin,  1690,  it  culminated  in  Savery's  practically 
working  machine  not  brought  into  complete  existence  until  1689. 
But  Denys  Papin  was  the  true  inventor  of  the  piston,  involving  the 
most  fundamental  principle  in  the  steam  engine.  This  growth, 
however,  had  then  only  begun,  and  it  lasted  through  the  eighteenth, 
and,  we  may  truly  say,  through  the  nineteenth  centuries,  and  still 
continues.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  invention  of  the  steam 
engine  constitutes  the  most  important  economic  and  industrial  step 
the  world  has  thus  far  taken,  and  it  can  only  be  compared  to  the  in- 
vention of  printing,  the  greatest  intellectual  step  in  the  history  of 
civilization.  With  the  latter  began  the  era  of  thought,  with  the 
former,  the  era  of  machinery. 

Among  other  inventions  of  the  seventeenth  century  may  be  men- 
tioned as  typical  the  air-pump  by  Hooke  and  Otto  Guericke  (more 
or  less  independently),  and  the  barometer  by  Torricelli.  Nor  should 
we  forget  as  among  the  most  peculiar,  the  wheelbarrow  by  Pascal,  a 
religious  ascetic,  but  also  a  mathematician  and  philosopher. 

As  following  upon  the  maturing  of  the  steam  engine  it  seems  nat- 
ural that  the  great  inventions  of  the  eighteenth  century  should  be 
the  loom  and  the  spinning  jenny,  as  it  is  these  three  that  practically 
constitute  the  factory,  and  although  a  great  many  other  industries, 
each  the  result  of  a  series  of  preparatory  inventions,  sprang  up  in 
response  to  the  new  demand,  still  it  was  the  factory,  and  the  exten- 
sive production  of  spun  and  woven  goods  by  machinery,  that  charac- 
terized this  age.  It  was  the  beginning  of  what  by  a  contradiction 
of  terms  is  known  as  manufactiire  by  machinery,  and  which  M. 
Tarde  has  so  happily  and  also  so  correctly  renamed  machinofacture. 

When  we  come  to  the  nineteenth  century  we  find  the  inventions 
simply  innumerable.  It  is  difficult  to  characterize  it  by  any  single 
one,  and  it  seems  necessary  to  name  at  least  two,  but  better  still,  three 
or  four.  If  we  mention  the  telegraph,  there  at  once  arise  in  the 
mind  the  colossal  figures  of  the  railway  and  the  steamship.  There 
also  arise  the  other  great  applications  of  electricity.  It  may  be 
called  the  age  of  electricity.  But  if  we  look  to  function  rather  than 
structure,  it  may  be  called  the  age  of  communication,  for  all  these 
structures  serve  that  end.  The  eighteenth  century  may  then  be 
called  the  age  of  production  and  the  nineteenth  that  of  distribution 


CH.  xix]  HUMAN  INVENTION  523 

in  the  economic  sense.  In  analogy  to  organic  functions  the  eight- 
eenth may  be  regarded  as  an  age  of  social  alimentation  or  digestion, 
while  the  nineteenth  was  one  of  circulation.  This  circulation,  how- 
ever, includes  both  nutritive  and  neural,  the  telegraph  and  telephone 
constituting  an  internuncial  system.  But  in  all  this  it  is  not  meant 
to  imply  that  the  organs  of  production  developed  during  the  eight- 
eenth century  were  not  active  during  the  nineteenth.  The  produc- 
tivity of  man  has  steadily  increased  throughout  all  this  time.  It  is 
only  that  to  this  great  alimentary  system  there  was  added  the  sys- 
tem of  circulation  both  of  things,  including  men,  and  of  ideas. 

The  telegraph  as  a  human  invention  stands  in  a  somewhat  similar 
relation  to  the  nineteenth  century  that  the  steam  engine  did  to  the 
seventeenth.  Started  by  Volta  in  1800  it  underwent  all  the  succes- 
sive improvements  by  Sommering,  1809,  Oersted,  1820,  Henry,  1831, 
Weber,  1833,  Steinheil,  1837,  Morse  and  Vail  (who  devised  the 
alphabet),  1837,  Cooke,  1842,  and  emerged  in  1845  as  a  practical 
business  enterprise  earning  as  high  as  one  dollar  per  day ! 

The  railway,  hatched  under  ground,  came  to  the  surface  in  1804, 
substituted  iron  for  wooden  rails  in  1805,  and  equipped  with 
Stephenson's  improved  locomotive  in  1829,  carried  the  first  passen- 
gers from  Liverpool  to  Manchester  in  1830.  The  first  steamboat 
dates  from  1802  and  the  screw  propeller  from  1838. 

As  a  few  typical  nineteenth-century  inventions,  given  as  nearly 
as  practicable  in  the  order  of  dates,  may  be  mentioned :  illuminating 
gas,  1804;  electric  lighting  (Davy),  1810,  (Moleyn,  incandescent), 
1841 ;  photography  (Daguerre  and  Niepce),  1829 ;  matches  (John 
Walker),  1827  ; l  India  rubber  or  caoutchouc,  1839 ;  gun-cotton,  1841 ; 

1  The  following  item  appeared  in  the  Scientific  American  for  March  22,  1902, 
Vol.  LXXXVI,  No.  12,  New  York,  p.  209  :  — 

INVENTOR  OF  THE  LUCIFER  MATCH 

"  There  have  been  many  claimants  to  the  honor  of  being  the  maker  of  the  first 
lucifer  match.  But  a  recent  discovery  of  some  old  account  books  at  Stockton-on- 
Tees,  England,  affords  documentary  evidence  which  proves  beyond  question  that  one 
John  Walker,  a  Durham  chemist,  was  the  original  inventor  and  maker  of  the  match. 
According  to  a  diary,  in  which  Walker  carefully  noted  all  his  business  transactions, 
the  first  box  of  matches  was  sold  for  thirty-five  cents  in  April,  1827.  It  appears  that 
they  at  once  became  popular,  and  people  traveled  from  the  adjacent  towns  to  pur- 
chase them.  Walker  employed  the  poor  of  Stockton  to  split  the  wood,  but  dipped 
them  in  the  phosphorus  mixture  himself  to  insure  their  perfection.  The  inventor 
was  pressed  by  his  friends  to  patent  the  process  ;  he  refused,  however,  affirming 
that  he  had  ample  means  to  satisfy  his  simple  wants." 


524  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

the  Bunsen  burner,  1845 ;  the  sewing  machine,  1847.  Of  the  last 
half  of  the  century  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak.  All  know  the  his- 
tory of  the  ocean  cable,  of  the  telephone,  of  the  bicycle,  of  the 
automobile,  of  the  X-rays,  of  wireless  telegraphy,  etc. 

In  the  conquest  of  nature  by  man  unquestionably  the  first  place 
must  be  given  to  invention,  to  the  perception  of  utilities  and  the 
utilization  of  properties  and  forces  locked  up  except  to  the  key  of 
intelligence  in  the  apparently  dead  and  lifeless  material  objects,  or 
invisible  and  intangible  in  the  subtle  forces  of  nature.  Still,  as  has 
already  been  said,  the  principle  does  not  essentially  differ  from  that 
employed  in  utilizing  the  psychic  properties  of  animals,  either 
through  the  ruse  in  capturing  them  for  food  or  through  those 
higher  powers  of  cunning  and  calculation  by  which  animals  are 
domesticated  and  made  to  serve  man.  M.  Tarde  has  recognized 
this  and  has  also  eloquently  portrayed  the  effects  of  invention  on 
civilization  in  the  following  characteristic  passage  from  one  of  his 
recent  works :  — 

The  first  savage  who  caused  a  spark  to  fly  from  two  stones  struck 
together  did  not  suspect  that  from  this  would  spring  the  religion  of  the 
hearth.  The  first  savage  who,  having  captured  young  lambs  or  calves  alive, 
observed  the  ease  with  which  they  could  be  tamed,  the  advantage  of  fatten- 
ing them  rather  than  of  killing  them  immediately,  did  not  suspect  that  he 
was  inaugurating  a  new  era,  the  pastoral  era,  and  a  new  political  regime, 
the  patriarchal  family,  the  organized  clan  and  tribe  out  of  which  would 
arise  the  nobility  and  the  hereditary  aristocracy.  The  first  savage  who 
conceived  the  idea,  instead  of  simply  gathering  seeds  and  fruits,  of  sowing 
them  and  cultivating  grains  of  wheat,  and  of  planting  fruit  trees,  did  not 
divine  that,  from  this  simple  idea  there  would  be  born  the  city,  a  wholly  new 
form  of  government,  and  that  from  the  patriarch,  from  the  chief  of  the 
tribe  or  the  clan,  the  power  would  pass,  wholly  transformed,  to  municipal 
magistrates.  .  .  .  The  first  man  or  the  first  woman  who  had  the  idea  of 
a  loom  and  of  manufacturing  cloth  to  sell  outside,  while  before  that  every 
family  made  all  the  clothes  they  needed  by  the  hands  of  its  women  or  its 
slaves,  this  person  introduced  for  the  cities  of  the  future,  such  as  Florence 
with  its  "arts  of  wool,"  the  microbe  of  industry  and  commerce,  which, 
through  the  accumulation  and  liberation  of  capital,  has  democratized  the 
world.1 

Thus  has  invention  not  only  satisfied  a  thousand  wants  but  it  has 
created  many  thousand  more;  and  not  only  has  it  satisfied  old 
wants  and  created  new  ones  but  it  has  also  satisfied  these  latter 

i  "Les  Transformations  du  Pouvoir,"  par  G.  Tarde,  Paris,  1899,  pp.  188-189. 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  525 

and  thereby  contributed  in  an  incalculable  degree  to  the  fullness  of 
life  or  volume  of  existence,  which  alone  constitutes  social  progress. 


SCIENTIFIC  DISCOVERY 

Invention  and  discovery  are  reciprocal.  Invention  leads  to  dis- 
covery and  discovery  leads  to  invention.  Without  the  arts  neces- 
sary in  the  construction  of  a  seaworthy  ship  and  the  invention  of 
the  compass  the  discovery  of  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  including  the 
New  World,  would  have  been  impossible.  Without  the  discovery  of 
the  power  of  steam  and  the  nature  of  electricity  the  invention  of 
the  steam  engine  and  the  telegraph  would  have  been  equally  im- 
possible. If  invention  seems  to  come  before  discovery  it  is  because 
throughout  the  long  empirical  stage  of  art  the  intuitive  reason  passed 
immediately  from  the  perception  of  utility  to  practical  application, 
and  there  was  no  preliminary  stage  of  scientific  research.  But  in 
this  way  only  the  more  simple  and  obvious  relations  could  be  per- 
ceived. The  deeper  and  more  occult  laws  and  principles  which  have 
been  as  much  more  fertile  of  results  as  they  were  more  difficult  to 
understand,  could  only  be  discovered  after  ages  of  thought,  study, 
and  investigation.  This  is  what  is  distinguished  as  science,  and  all 
the  later  and  greater  inventions  had  to  wait  for  this  prolonged 
preparation. 

Just  as  the  chief  mission  of  invention  in  its  broadest  sense  is  to 
counteract  and  so  far  as  possible  millify  the  uneconomical  and  waste- 
ful genetic  method  of  nature  and  substitute  for  it  the  economical 
and  fruitful  telic  method  of  mind,  so  it  was  the  chief  mission  of 
science  in  its  broadest  sense  to  dispel  the  illusions  of  nature  and 
the  errors  of  the  primitive  reason  based  on  these  illusions,  and  to 
substitute  for  them  the  truths  that  lie  hidden  beneath  the  superficial 
appearances  and  the  laws  of  nature  that  only  reveal  themselves  to 
prolonged  observation,  experimentation,  and  reflection.  The  most 
fundamental  of  all  nature's  laws  is  the  law  of  causation,  and  this  is 
precisely  the  one  that  the  primitive  mind  least  understands.  Du 
Bois-Keymond,  in  the  address  already  referred  to  (supra,  p.  516), 
says : — 

Among  men  in  a  low  grade  of  culture,  the  instinct  of  causality  is  satis- 
fied with  reasons  for  things  that  hardly  deserve  the  name  of  reasons.  Noth- 
ing, we  are  told  by  Charles  Martins,  strikes  one  so  forcibly  in  conversing 


526  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

with  the  inhabitants  of  the  Sahara  as  their  lack  of  development  in  this  re- 
spect. These  people  have  no  idea  of  "  cause  "  or  of  "  law  "  as  we  understand 
those  terms.  For  them  it  is  the  natural,  and  not  the  supernatural,  that  has 
no  existence.  The  French  officer  of  engineers  who  sinks  through  the  gypsum 
crust  of  the  desert  an  artesian  well,  thus  procuring  for  them  the  blessing  of 
a  new  date-grove,  is,  in  their  eyes,  not  a  man  of  superior  acquirement  whose 
eye  penetrates  to  the  interior  of  the  earth,  and  who  knows  how  to  discover 
what  there  is  "hid,  but  a  miracle-worker,  who,  albeit  an  infidel,  is  on  better 
terms  with  Allah  than  themselves,  and  who,  like  Moses  of  old,  strikes  water 
from  the  rock. 

The  stage  of  empiricism  overlapped  far  upon  the  scientific  stage 
and  cannot  be  said  even  now  to  have  wholly  passed  away,  but  after 
social  amalgamation  had  reached  a  certain  point  and  social  cleavage 
had  become  complete  the  leisure  class,  freed  from  the  goad  of  want, 
began  to  employ  its  surplus  energies  in  the  greater  and  greater  exer- 
cise of  its  non-advantageous  faculties.  Primum  vivere,  delude  plii- 
losophari.  This  explains  the  fact  to  which  Comte  called  attention 
that  the  sciences  were  cultivated  in  the  inverse  order  of  their  value 
to  man.  The  non-advantageous  faculties  had  no  reason  for  search- 
ing for  utilities,  and  they  expended  themselves  chiefly  in  the  search 
for  things  that  had  no  apparent  utility  whatever.  Much  of  this 
early  research,  if  it  can  be  dignified  by  that  name,  had  in  fact  no 
utility  beyond  that  of  exercising  and  thus  developing  the  faculties 
themselves.  Such  were  the  greater  part  of  all  the  studies  made  of 
the  mind  itself,  of  the  relations  supposed  to  subsist  between  the 
human  mind  and  the  divine  mind,  of  the  nature  of  the  supposed 
intelligences  existing  in  nature  outside  of  the  human  mind,  of  logic 
and  dialectics,  of  ideas,  of  being,  and  of  the  soul.  None  of  these 
lines  of  reflection  have  yielded  anything  whatever  that  has  advanced 
or  benefited  the  world.  That  these  were  the  earliest  lines  followed 
is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  they  still  prevail  in  Oriental  philoso- 
phy', i.e.,  in  the  philosophy  of  those  parts  of  the  world  in  which 
social  amalgamation  first  took  place  and  civilization  began.  The 
sterility  of  this  form  of  philosophy  is  sufficiently  attested  by  the 
nature  of  Oriental  civilization,  which,  although  so  much  older  than 
Occidental  civilization,  has  made  scarcely  any  advance  in  science 
and  the  civilizing  effects  of  science.  The  reason  for  this  is  perhaps 
partly  racial,  but  is  doubtless  chiefly  social,  i.e.,  it  lies  in  the  intense 
conservatism  of  those  ancient  peoples,  which  has  prevented  for  ages 
any  marked  disturbance  of  the  social  equilibrium  and  the  setting  up 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  527 

of  a  difference  of  potential.     But  this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  this 
aspect  of  the  subject. 

Comte  also  pointed  out  the  three  principal  methods  of  scientific 
discove^,  viz.,  observation,  experimentation,  and  comparison,  and 
this  is  at  once  the  order  corresponding  to  that  in  which  the  sciences 
stand  in  his  hierarchy  and  that  in  which,  to  a  great  extent,  they 
have  been  studied.  It  is  at  least  true  that  the  earliest  scientific 
study  consisted  chiefly  in  observation.  The  considerable  advances 
which  it  is  known  that  the  Chaldeans,  the  Chinese,  and  the  Egyp- 
tians made  in  astronomy  were  reached  by  this  method.  It  is  true 
that  much  of  this  relates  to  the  fixed  stars  and  has  not  yielded  very 
important  results,  but  the  Babylonians  knew  full  well  the  difference 
between  fixed  stars  and  planets,  and  were  able  actually  to  calculate 
eclipses.  They  determined  the  length  of  the  year  with  considerable 
accuracy,  and  even  understood  the  fact  at  least  of  the  precession  of 
the  equinoxes.  Thus  Dr.  Draper  says  :  — 

Ptolemy,  the  Egyptian  astronomer,  possessed  a  Babylonian  record  of 
eclipses,  going  back  747  years  before  our  era.  Long-continued  and  close 
observations  were  necessary,  before  some  of  these  astronomical  results  that 
have  reached  our  times  could  have  been  ascertained.  Thus  the  Babylonians 
had  fixed  the  length  of  a  tropical  year  within  twenty-five  seconds  of  the 
truth  ;  their  estimate  of  the  sidereal  year  was  barely  two  minutes  in  excess. 
They  had  detected  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes.  They  knew  the  causes 
of  eclipses,  and,  by  the  aid  of  their  cycle  called  Saros,  could  predict  them. 
Their  estimate  of  the  value  of  that  cycle,  which  is  more  than  6585  days,  was 
within  nineteen  and  a  half  minutes  of  the  truth.  Such  facts  furnish  incon- 
trovertible proof  of  the  patience  and  skill  with  which  astronomy  had  been 
cultivated  in  Mesopotamia,  and  that,  with  very  inadequate  instrumental 
means,  it  had  reached  no  inconsiderable  perfection.  These  old  observers 
had  made  a  catalogue  of  the  stars,  had  divided  the  zodiac  into  twelve  signs ; 
they  had  parted  the  day  into  twelve  hours,  the  night  into  twelve.  They  had, 
as  Aristotle  says,  for  a  long  time  devoted  themselves  to  observations  of  star- 
occultations  by  the  moon.  They  had  correct  views  of  the  structure  of  the 
solar  system,  and  knew  the  order  of  emplacement  of  the  planets.  They  con- 
structed sun-dials,  clepsydras,  astrolabes,  and  gnomons.1 

That  these  ancient  astronomers  were  priests,  and  that  this  early 
study  of  nature  was  due  to  the  establishment  of  a  priesthood  wholly 
exempt  from  the  struggle  for  existence  is  evident  from  the  fact  that 

1  "  History  of  the  Conflict  between  Religion  and  Science,"  by  John  William 
Draper,  fifth  edition,  New  York,  1875,  pp.  13-14.  Cf.  Laplace,  "Exposition  du 
Systeme  du  Monde,"  6"  e'dition,  Paris,  1835,  pp.  371  ff. 


528  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

the  results  were   regularly  used  in  religious  ceremonies.     On  this- 
point  Laplace  (loc.  cit.,  p.  374)  remarks :  — 

Astronomical  knowledge  appears  to  have  been  the  basis  of  all  theogonies 
whose  origin  is  thus  explained  in  the  simplest  manner.  In  Chaldea  and  in 
ancient  Egypt  astronomy  was  only  cultivated  in  temples  by  priests  who 
founded  upon  it  the  superstitions  of  which  they  were  the  ministers. 

India,  which  is  perhaps  theoretically  nearer  to  the  primordial 
center  of  dispersion,  does  not  show  the  same  antiquity  in  observa- 
tional science  as  Chaldea.  In  the  latter  country  the  record  reaches 
back  nearly  two  thousand  years  before  the  Christian  era,  while  in 
the  former  it  is  only  certain  for  somewhat  less  than  fifteen  hundred 
years.  There  is,  however,  an  Indian  record  covering  over  three 
thousand  years,  but  the  authenticity  of  this  has  been  called  in 
question.  Still,  the  record  is  really  no  just  criterion  of  antiquity, 
since  there  are  so  many  ways  in  which  it  might  be  destroyed  or  lost. 
That  in  both  these  countries  observations  had  been  regularly  made 
ages  before  any  permanent  mode  of  recording  them  had  been  in- 
vented, is  next  to  certain.1 

While  speaking  of  India  we  should  not  omit  to  note  that  it  was 
here  that  originated  the  decimal  system  of  notation,  or  so-called 
"Arabic  numerals,"  the  influence  of  which  on  human  life  and  social 
evolution  has  been  incalculable.  The  fact  that  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  did  tiot  possess  it  makes  it  possible  to  conceive  of  the 
world's  having  had  to  do  without  it  altogether  had  it  not  been 
evolved  from  some  fertile  Indian  brain.  Whether  it  could  have 
been  evolved  from  the  clumsy  Roman  system  may  be  an  open  ques- 
tion, although  Humboldt,  as  already  shown  in  Chapter  III,  has 
worked  out  such  a  natural  evolution  of  the  value  of  position. 
Draper  claims  (loc.  cit,  p.  14)  that  the  Babylonians  had  all  the  digits 
except  the  zero,  but  they  may  have  acquired  their  system  from 
India. 

In  China  astronomical  records  go  back  quite  as  far  as  in  Chaldea, 
viz.,  to  the  reign  of  the  emperor  Yao,  more  than  two  thousand  years 
before  our  era.  There  was  in  the  charge  of  the  priesthood  a  tri- 
bunal of  mathematics  which  prepared  a  calendar  of  eclipses  (an- 
nounced in  advance)  and  of  other  celestial  phenomena.  They  had 
the  solstitial  gnomon  which  marked  the  midday  sun  and  the  mid- 
night stars;  they  measured  time  by  clepsydras;  they  determined 
1  Laplace,  loc.  cit.,  p.  376. 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  529 

the  position  of  the  moon  relative  to  the  stars  in  eclipses ;  they  con- 
structed instruments  for  measuring  the  angular  distances  of  the 
stars ;  they  calculated  the  length  of  the  year  at  365J  days.  They 
made  the  angle  of  the  plane  of  the  earth's  orbit  to  that  of  the  ecliptic 
23°  54',  which,  as  Humboldt  says,1  is  twenty-seven  minutes  greater 
than  it  was  in  1850.  Especially  valuable  are  the  ancient  Chinese 
records  relating  to  comets.  In  this  connection  Humboldt  remarks :  — 

While  the  so-called  classic  peoples  of  the  West,  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
did  indeed  sometimes  note  the  spot  where  a  comet  was  first  seen  in  the 
heavens,  never  a  word  as  to  its  apparent  path,  the  rich  literature  of  the 
nature-observing,  all-recording  Chinese  give  circumstantial  accounts  of 
the  constellations  through  which  every  comet  passed.2 

Unfortunately  the  emperor  Chi-hoang-ti,  in  the  year  213  B.C.,  or- 
dered most  of  the  books  containing  astronomical  records  to  be 
burned,  whereby  their  mode  of  calculating  eclipses  and  many  im- 
portant observations  have  been  lost. 

The  ancient  Egyptians  must  have  cultivated  astronomy,  but  about 
the  only  records  they  have  left  are  to  be  found  in  the  construction 
of  the  pyramids,  the  exactness  of  which  presupposes  considerable 
advance  in  mathematics,  engineering,  and  mechanical  skill.  Their 
orientation  with  the  points  of  the  compass  shows  that  the  calcula- 
tions were  primarily  astronomical.  Professor  Piazzi  Smyth  took 
great  pains  to  examine,  measure,  and  describe  the  pyramids.  Bas- 
ing his  remarks  on  Professor  Smyth's  results,  Dr.  Alfred  Eussel 
Wallace  in  his  opening  address  as  President  of  the  Biological  Sec- 
tion of  the  British  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science  at 
its  meeting  in  Glasgow  in  1876,  and  confining  himself  to  the  great 
Pyramid  of  Cheops,  thus  sums  up  the  evidence :  — 

The  results  arrived  at  are  :  — 

1.  That  the  pyramid  is  truly  square,  the  sides  being  equal  and  the  angles 
right  angles. 

2.  That  the  four  sockets  on  which  the  first  four  stones  of  the  corners 
rested  are  truly  on  the  same  level. 

3.  That  the  directions  of  the  sides  are  accurately  to  the  four  cardinal 
points. 

4.  That  the  vertical  height  of  the  pyramid  bears  the  same  proportion  to  its 
circumference  at  the  base  as  the  radius  of  a  circle  does  to  its  circumference. 

Now  all  these  measures,  angles,  and  levels  are  accurate,  not  as  an  ordi- 
nary surveyor  or  builder  could  make  them,  but  to  such  a  degree  as  requires 

1  Cosmos,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  302. 

2  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I,  p.  67 ;  cf.  also  p.  236. 
Sx 


530  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

the  very  best  modern  instruments  and  all  the  refinements  of  geodetical 
science  to  discover  any  error  at  all.  In  addition  to  this  we  have  the  wonder- 
ful perfection  of  the  workmanship  in  the  interior  of  the  pyramid,  the  pas- 
sages and  chambers  being  lined  with  huge  blocks  of  stones  fitted  with  the 
utmost  accuracy,  while  every  part  of  the  building  exhibits  the  highest 
structural  science.1 

The  date  of  the  construction  of  this  pyramid,  the  most  ancient 
human  structure  on  the  globe,  is  usually  placed  at  about  four  thou- 
sand years  before  the  commencement  of  our  era,  but  Ranke  thinks  it 
much  older.2 

All  over  Europe  are  to  be  found  the  remains  of  structures  in 
stone  erected  by  the  prehistoric  races  that  lived  there  ages  before 
the  present  peoples  invaded  Europe  from  the  east.  The  most  re- 
markable of  these  is  Stonehenge  in  Wiltshire,  England.  Since  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  gazing  upon  that  somber  and  impressive  monu- 
ment in  1900,  Sir  E.  Antrobus,  on  whose  estate  it  stands,  has  had 
excavations  made  and  caused  the  great  leaning-stone  to  be  set  erect 
before  it  should  fall  and  perhaps  break  or  damage  other  stones. 
This  work  was  superintended  by  Mr.  Detmar  Blow  and  Dr.  Gow- 
land  in  October,  1901,  and  the  former  of  these  gentlemen  pre- 
sented a  paper  on  Jan.  21,  1902,  to  the  Royal  Institute  of  British 
Architects,  on  "  The  Recent  Discoveries  at  Stonehenge."  The  gene- 
ral conclusion  was  that  Stonehenge  belongs  to  the  Palaeolithic  age 
of  human  development,  that  the  structure  represents  a  temple  for 
observing  the  length  of  the  year  by  the  rising  of  the  sun  on  the 
longest  day  of  the  year,  in  order  that  the  people  should  be  able 
to  fix  the  time  for  performing  agricultural  operations.  He  gave  a 
number  of  astronomical  data  in  support  of  the  view  that  Stone- 
henge was  a  solar  temple  for  observation  in  the  height  of  summer, 
and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  avenue  which  was  associated 
with  the  Sarsen  stones  was  laid  down  about  the  year  1680  B.C.  His 
conclusions  were  corroborated  by  Sir  Norman  Lockyer.  Of  course 
it  is  to  be  understood  that  the  civilization  of  a  region  so  far  from  the 
center  of  dispersion  must  be  far  behind  such  comparatively  central 
regions  as  India,  Chaldea,  and  Egypt,  but  it  is  clear  that  it  was 
marching  in  the  same  direction,  and  but  for  the  Indo-Germanic  inva- 

1  British    Association  Report,  Glasgow  Meeting,    1876,  London,   1877,  Part    II. 
Notices  and  Abstracts,  p.  117. 

2  "  Weltgeschichte,"  von   Leopold  von  Ranke,  Zweite  Auflage,  Leipzig,  1881, 
Vol.  I,  p.  8. 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  531 

sion  the  old  primitive  civilization  of  Western  Europe  would  have 
eventually  worked  up  toward  the  present  state,  though,  without 
those  fruitful  cross  fertilizations,  it  would  have  taken  vast  ages 
longer  to  reach  the  same  point. 

The  want  of  a  written  language  and  the  general  character  of 
sacerdotal  observation  and  thought  have  kept  the  world  in  general 
ignorance  of  who  the  men  were  that  performed  these  intellectual 
achievements,  and  we  can  only  vaguely  ascribe  them  to  the  races 
that  inhabited  the  areas  on  which  their  monuments  are  found.  But 
when  at  last  we  approach  the  new,  and  at  first  comparatively  back- 
ward civilization  of  Greece  and  the  regions  that  surround  it,  we  are 
near  enough  to  the  date  of  the  invention  of  a  symbolic  alphabet  and 
to  records  made  on  papyrus  sheets  or  parchment  to  begin  to  learn 
what  was  transpiring  in  the  world  of  thought.  Beginning  with 
Thales,  Anaximander,  Pythagoras,  and  Anaximenes  in  the  seventh  and 
sixth  centuries,  and  continuing  with  Heraclitus,  Empedocles,  Anax- 
agoras,  in  the  fifth,  and  Democritus,  Aristotle,  Epicurus,  and  Euclid, 
in  the  fourth,  followed  by  Archimedes  and  the  Alexandrian  school  in 
the  third  and  second  centuries  before  our  era,  we  have  a  great  mass 
of  cosmological  ideas,  which  seen  thus  in  perspective,  towers  up  into 
gigantic  proportions.  These  men  were  not  priests,  but  all  belonged 
to  the  privileged  class  who  possessed  leisure  and  opportunity  for 
observation  and  meditation,  and  while  the  earlier  of  them  could  only 
teach  their  doctrines  to  their  disciples,  these  latter  found  ways  at 
last  of  preserving  and  transmitting  these  thoughts,  until  they  could 
ultimately  be  recorded  and  handed  down  as  imperishable  achieve- 
ments of  the  human  mind. 

If  all  that  these  men  and  their  contemporaries,  too  numerous  to 
mention,  actually  taught  the  world  could  have  been  accepted  and 
seized  upon  it  would  almost  seem  that  we  moderns  would  have  had 
nothing  to  learn.  About  all  that  we  of  the  past  five  centuries  have 
accomplished  has  been  to  prove  and  "  establish"  the  truths  that  they 
taught.  I  shall  not  undertake  a  systematic  enumeration  of  them, 
but  may  be  permitted  to  mention :  the  atomic  theory,  taught  by 
Leucippus,  Democritus,  and  Epicurus;  the  heliocentric  system, 
taught  by  Pythagoras  and  Aristarchus  of  Samos ;  the  conservation 
of  energy,  distinctly  perceived  by  Epicurus ;  the  nature  of  electricity, 
dimly  foreshadowed  by  Thales ;  the  fact  of  a  universal  struggle  for 
existence,  epigramrnatically  stated  by  Heraclitus  and  taught  by 


532  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

Lucretius;  the  discovery  of  the  power  of  steam,  demonstrated  ex- 
perimentally by  Hero ;  the  whole  science  of  geometry,  taught  by  all 
the  Greek  philosophers  and  reduced  to  theorems  by  Euclid  that 
it  has  been  found  difficult  to  improve  even  in  point  of  phraseology^ 
the  law  of  specific  gravity,  discovered  by  Archimedes ;  the  principle 
of  the  lever  and  fulcrum,  also  worked  out  by  Archimedes ;  the  foun- 
dations of  natural  history,  laid  by  Aristotle  and  built  upon  by  Theo- 
phrastus ;  and  finally  the  fundamental  principles  of  psychology  and 
sociology,  taught  by  Aristotle  as  well  as  by  some  of  the  sophists 
and  stoics. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  the  wonderful  development  of  art,  espe- 
cially of  sculpture,  but  almost  equally  in  poetry  and  drama,  although 
these  too  are  imperishable  achievements,  because  we  are  here  dealing 
with  the  progress  of  the  human  intellect  in  compassing  the  conquest 
of  nature.  The  unreflective  mind  might  question  whether  the  scien- 
tific principles  here  enumerated  have  really  contributed  to  this  end, 
but  any  one  who  is  at  all  familiar  with  the  character  of  modern 
science  cannot  fail  to  see  that  it  is  these  and  other  great  principles 
of  nature  that  really  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all  scientific  progress, 
and  that  it  is  the  general  acceptance  of  these  that  paves  the  way  for 
all  those  practical  applications  of  science  that  constitute  the  march 
of  civilization.  The  more  serious  objection,  however,  can  scarcely  be 
waived,  that  all  this  volume  of  truth  taught  and  revealed  by  the 
Greek  mind  produced  no  appreciable  effect  in  their  day  upon  man- 
kind and  did  not  tend  toward  the  better  control  of  natural  forces  in 
the  interest  of  man.  This  is  in  the  main,  though  not  wholly  true. 
Much  of  it  was  taught  as  merely  hypothesis,  some  of  it  only  esoteri- 
cally,  as,  for  example,  the  heliocentric  system  by  Pythagoras,  who  is 
said  to  have  taught  the  opposite  openly.  The  world  was  not  ripe 
for  such  truths  and  did  not  get  ripe  for  another  fifteen  hundred 
years.  But  this  detracts  nothing  from  their  real  importance,  since 
this  early  announcement  of  them  was  merely  sowing  the  seed,  and 
unless  the  seed  be  sown  there  can  obviously  be  no  crop,  no  ripening, 
and  no  harvest. 

As  in  the  case  of  invention,  so  in  that  of  scientific  discovery,  and 
in  fact  of  about  everything  but  church  history,  scholasticism,  and 
religious  casuistry,  the  first  fourteen  centuries  of  the  Christian  era 
offer  almost  nothing  worth  recording.  It  is  also  a  fact  generally 
overlooked,  that  during  practically  this  same  period  Asia  was  passing 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  533 

through  a  phase  of  its  history  similar  to  that  through  which  Europe 
had  to  pass.  Just  as  Christianity  supplanted  paganism  in.  the  West, 
so  Buddhism  first  supplanted  the  older  Indian  cults,  and  then  Mo- 
hammedanism swept  over  the  whole  eastern  world  from  the  Medi- 
terranean to  the  Pacific.  It  also  invaded  Egypt  and  Northern  Africa 
and  strove  to  penetrate  the  continent  of  Europe,  which  it  might  per- 
haps have  accomplished  had  it  not  been  stopped  and  turned  back  by 
the  hammer  of  Charles  Martel  on  the  plains  of  Tours  in  the  year 
732.  But  in  Asia  there  has  been  no  renaissance,  except  the  recent 
awakening  of  Japan. 

In  Europe  the  Middle  Ages  were  to  some  extent  a  period  of  gesta- 
tion. The  barbarian  and  Mohammedan  invasions  and  the  Crusades 
had  a  powerful  awakening  influence  and  repeatedly  disturbed  the 
social  equilibrium,  infusing  fresh,  but  as  yet  coarse,  unassimilated 
mental  and  physical  elements,  and  requiring  long  periods  for  their 
refinement  and  complete  readjustment.  Only  a  few  such  names  as 
those  of  Galen,  the  true  founder  of  human  anatomy,  in  the  second 
century ;  Avicenna  (an  Arabian,  but  whose  works  became  known  in 
Europe),  who  lived  in  the  tenth  century  and  was  familiar  with  all 
the  sciences  then  known ;  Averrhoes,  the  Spanish  Saracen  and  uni- 
versal sch'olar  ;  Ebn  Junis  in  the  tenth  century,  who  discovered  the 
principle  of  the  pendulum  six  centuries  before  Huyghens ;  Albertus 
Magnus  and  Roger  Bacon  in  the  thirteenth  century,  both  of  whom 
made  considerable  advances  in  various  sciences,  especially  in  physi- 
ology and  chemistry,  are  worth  enumerating  among  those  who  con- 
tributed anything  during  the  Middle  Ages  to  the  advancement  of 
man's  dominion  over  nature. 

The  very  first  of  these  great  cosmic  truths  of  antiquity  to  be 
revived  at  the  dawn  of  the  new  era  was  the  heliocentric  system, 
worked  out  by  Copernicus,  but  foreshadowed  by  a  German  cardinal, 
Nicolaus  de  Cusa,  in  1444,  or  nearly  a  century  before  the  appearance 
of  the  "  De  Revolutionibus."  Humboldt  quotes  the  passage  which 
establishes  his  claim  to  priority  to  the  doctrine  that  the  earth  moves : 
"  Jam  nobis  manifestum  est  terrain  in  veritate  moveri.  Terra  non 
potest  esse  fixa,  sed  movetur  ut  aliae  stellse."1  Copernicus  could 

1  "  De  docta  Ignorantia,"  Lib.  II,  Cap.  XII.  This  fragment,  found  in  the  Hospital 
at  Cues  by  Clemens,  in  1843,  and  another  paper  of  Cardinal  Cusa  entitled  "  De  Vena- 
tione  Sapientije"  (Cap.  28),  set  forth  his  theory,  which  was  that  both  earth  and  sun 
revolve  about  a  constantly  changing  pole  of  the  universe.  He  therefore  missed  the 
essential  truth.  Cf.  Humboldt,  "  Cosmos,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  71,  324;  Vol.  Ill,  p.  271. 


534  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

have  known  nothing  of  these  tracts,  which  appear  not  to  have  been 
published,  and  Cusa  does  not  seem  to  connect  his  system  with  the 
teachings  of  the  ancients.  But  Copernicus  was  well  grounded  in  the 
astronomical  literature  of  antiquity  and  made  frequent  reference  to 
it  in  the  first  edition  of  his  work  which  appeared  in  1543,  or  the 
year  of  his  death. 

The  great  work  of  Vesalius,  by  which  the  modern  science  of 
anatomy  was  created,  appeared  also  in  1543.  William  Gilbert's 
investigations  into  the  true  properties  of  magnets  were  completed 
before  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Sanctorius  (1612)  and 
Huyghens  (1656)  established  the  laws  of  the  pendulum  and  made  it 
a  scientific  and  practical  instrument.  Descartes,  in  the  first  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  created  the  science  of  analytical  geometry. 
From  1619  to  1628  Harvey  discovered  the  circulation  of  the  blood 
and  elaborated  the  principles  on  which  it  takes  place.  Galileo's 
great  scientific  achievements  all  fell  within  this  period  and  his  death 
occurred  in  1642.  One  of  the  most  important  of  these,  and  one  that 
is  rarely  mentioned  in  connection  with  him,  was  the  discovery  of  the 
true  nature  of  force,  especially  as  exemplified  in  gravitation,  the  dis- 
covery of  which  is  not  usually  ascribed  to  him.  Of  Galileo's  results 
in  this  field  of  experimentation  Lagrange  said :  "  It  forms  lo-day  the 
most  permanent  and  essential  part  of  the  glory  of  this  great  man. 
His  discoveries  of  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  of  the  phases  of  Venus, 
of  sun  spots,  etc.,  required  telescopes  and  application  only ;  but  it 
was  a  mark  of  extraordinary  genius  to  detect  the  laws  of  nature  in 
the  midst  of  phenomena  which  men  always  had  before  their  eyes, 
but  whose  explanation  had  nevertheless  always  escaped  the  scrutiny 
of  philosophers." 1 

We  are  to-day  in  position  to  speak  of  the  discovery  of  the  inter- 
stellar ether.  It  is  no  longer  a  hypothesis,  although  we  are  still 
lacking  in  information  as  to  its  true  nature  and  essence.  This  was 
also  a  seventeenth  century  discovery,  but  whether  to  ascribe  it  to 
Bacon,2  to  Descartes,  or  to  Hooke,  may  be  open  to  question.  The 
credit  is  usually  given  to  Descartes.  There  was  a  similar  concep- 
tion in  India,  but  to  show  its  vagueness  and  unscientific  character  it 

1  "Mecanique  Analytique,"  par  J.  L.  Lagrange,  nouvelle  edition,  revue  et  aug- 
mentee  par  1'auteur,  Paris,  1811,  Vol.  I,  pp.  221-222  (somewhat  modified  from  the 
edition  of  1788,  p.  159). 

2"  JEther  purus  et  interstellaris,"  Novum  Organum,  Pt.  II,  Aph.  L.  ("Works," 
Vol.  I,  1869,  p.  531). 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  535 

is  only  necessary  to  point  out  that  it  was  supposed  to  be  the  peculiar 
vehicle  of  life  and  of  sound.1 

Closely  connected  with  the  recognition  of  a  universal  ether  as  the 
medium  of  the  radiant  forces  was  the  discovery  by  Huyghens  and 
Hooke  of  the  undulatory  theory  of  light,  as  also  that  of  the  nature 
of  heat  in  so  far  as  Newton  was  able  to  understand  it,  and  the  full 
establishment  by  Newton  of  the  law  of  gravitation,  the  data  for 
which  had  been  accumulating  at  the  hands  of  Copernicus,  Kepler, 
Hooke,  Cassini,  and  even  Simplicius  in  the  sixth  century.  Now  for 
the  first  time  was  the  nature  of  planetary  motions  understood,  and 
from  this  time  we  may  correctly  date  all  exact  knowledge  of  the 
solar  system  and  of  the  laws  of  the  universe.  Newton's  three  funda- 
mental laws  of  motion  connected  astronomy  and  physics,  heaven  and 
earth,  into  a  single  grand  monistic  scheme,  and  placed  all  the  sciences 
on  a  mathematical  basis. 

Reference  was  made  in  the  last  section  to  the  invention  of  the  air- 
pump  by  Torricelli,  but  this  involved  the  great  scientific  discovery 
of  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere,  and  ultimately  that  of  the  behavior 
of  gases  in  general.  These  discoveries  were  perfected  by  Boyle  and 
Mariotte  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  were  destined  to  bear  still 
greater  fruit  in  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  at  the  hands  of  Charles, 
Avogadro,  Ampere,  and  Clausius.  For  the  most  part  must  we  also 
refer  to  the  seventeenth  century  that  astonishing  genius  Leibnitz. 
A  recent  reviewer  has  justly  said :  — 

What  a  marvellously  gifted  man  Leibniz  was !  The  king  of  Prussia  truly 
said  of  him,  "  He  represents  in  himself  a  whole  Academy  " ;  and  George  I 
of  England  was  quite  justified  in  saying,  "I  count  myself  happy  in  possess- 
ing two  kingdoms,  in  one  of  which  I  have  the  honor  of  reckoning  a  Leibniz, 
and  in  the  other  a  Newton,  among  my  subjects."  A  brilliant  mathemati- 
cian, contesting  with  Newton  the  honor  of  discovering  the  Calculus  ;  a  gifted 
psychologist  and  epistemologist,  equaling  and  surpassing  in  his  New  Essays, 
Locke's  famous  Essay ;  a  profound  theologian,  writing  the  most  famous  book 
on  Theodicy  which  has  ever  been  printed ;  a  learned  historian,  producing  a 
history  of  the  House  of  Brunswick  commended  by  Gibbon  himself ;  a  far- 
sighted  statesman  and  diplomatist,  honored  at  several  of  the  most  powerful 
courts  of  Europe ;  a  great  philosopher,  founder  of  modern  German  specula- 
tive philosophy  and  worthy  to  be  named  with  Kant  himself;  and,  withal,  an 
eminent  scientist,  "  a  man  of  science,  in  the  modern  sense,  of  the  first  rank,"  as 
Professor  Huxley  calls  him,  —  these  are  a  few  of  his  claims  to  consideration.2 

1  Wilson,  Sanskrit  Dictionary,  Art.  Akd'sa. 

2  George  Martin  Duncan  in  the  Monist,  Vol.  XII,  April,  1902,  p.  459. 


536  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

The  greatest  discoveries  of  the  eighteenth  century  grew  out  of 
seventeenth  century  conceptions  of  ether  and  gravitation.  They 
relate  to  heat,  light,  and  electricity.  It  is  known  that  Bacon  de- 
clared that  heat  is  nothing  but  motion,1  and  Locke 2  held  a  similar 
view,  while  Newton  regarded  the  propagation  of  heat  as  a  succession 
of  shocks  in  the  radiant  substance.  Huyghens  and  Hooke  also 
closely  approached  the  modern  view,  but  Boyle  in  1744  seems  to 
have  been  the  first  to  make  a  clear  statement  of  the  law.3  Never- 
theless, none  of  these  authors  had  got  beyond  a  sort  of  material  ema- 
nation, which  so  taxed  the  credulity  of  Count  Kumford  that  in  1797 
he  essayed  a  new  explanation  and  advanced  the  whole  subject  to  the 
dynamic  stage.4  It  was  now  ready  for  Davy,  Joule,  and  Mayer  in 
the  century  that  followed  to  subject  it  to  experimental  demonstra- 
tion and  reduce  it  to  exact  mathematical  form. 

With  regard  to  light,  the  two  most  important  advances  made  dur- 
ing the  eighteenth  century  were  those  of  Euler  in  demonstrating  the 
undulatory  theory,  discovered  by  Huyghens,  and  of  Bradley  in 
establishing  the  fact  and  the  principles  of  aberration. 

In  the  account  given  in  the  last  section  of  the  invention  of  the 
telegraph  it  was  shown  that  the  nineteenth  century  was  preeminently 
the  age  of  electricity,  but  some  of  the  most  important  discoveries 
leading  to  these  applications  were  made  during  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, and  notably  the  celebrated  experiments  of  Galvani  on  frogs' 
legs,  supplemented  by  those  of  Volta,  who,  although  he  wrongly 
interpreted  the  phenomena,  greatly  increased  the  stock  of  knowledge, 
and  was  led  to  the  invention  of  the  pile  known  by  his  name.  To 
this  epoch  also  belongs  the  work  of  Franklin. 

But  the  eighteenth  century  was  scarcely  less  prolific  in  other  great 
discoveries.  In  astronomy  we  have  through  Kant  and  Laplace  clear 
statements  of  the  nebular  hypothesis,  vaguely  conceived  by  Anaxi- 
mander  and  partially  formulated  by  Tycho  Brahe.  In  chemistry  we 
have  the  discovery  of  oxygen,  doubtless  first  by  Priestley,  but  inde- 

1 "  Sed  quod  ipsissimus  Calor,  sive  quid  ipsum  Caloris,  sit  Motus  et  nihil  aliud," 
Novum  Organum,  II,  Aph.  XX  ("  Works,"  Vol.  I,  p.  391). 

2  "  Conduct  of  Human  Understanding,  Elements  of  Natural  Philosophy,"  Chapter 
XI,  "Works,"  London,  1801,  Vol.  Ill,  pp.  297-299. 

8  "  On  the  Mechanical  Origin  of  Heat  and  Cold,"  by  Robert  Boyle,  "  Works," 
Vol.  IV,  London,  1772,  pp.  236-259.  See  especially  Experiment  VI  on  pp.  249-250. 

4  "  Inquiry  concerning  the  Source  of  the  Heat  which  is  excited  by  Friction,"  by 
Benjamin  Count  Rumford,  Philosophical  Transactions,  Vol.  LXXXVIII,  1798,  pp. 
80-102. 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY 

pendently  the  same  year  (1774),  though  somewhat  later,  by  Scheele, 
and  also,  as  it  is  claimed,  independently  in  1775  by  Lavoisier  and 
Trudaine,  all  of  which  shows  that  the  world  was  ripe  for  it.  Nitro- 
gen was  certainly  discovered  by  Scheele  but  Cavendish  a  little  later 
placed  its  existence  on  a  firm  basis.  The  discovery  of  sodium  and 
potassium  by  Davy  and  of  iodine  by  Gay-Lussac  soon  followed,  and 
the  chemical  elements  began  to  be  known.  But  perhaps  the  most 
signal  of  all  the  chemical  advances  of  that  period  was  the  discovery 
by  Lavoisier  of  the  true  nature  of  combustion  and  the  overthrow  of 
the  metaphysical  doctrine  of  phlogiston.  Man  had  known  fire  as 
long  as  he  had  known  water  and  much  longer  than  he  had  known 
air,  but  never  before  did  he  know  in  what  fire  essentially  consists. 
A  committee  of  the  French  Academy  successfully  repeated  Lavoi- 
sier's experiments  in  1790,  a  congratulatory  meeting  was  held  in 
Paris,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  savants  Madame  Lavoi- 
sier, attired  as  a  priestess  of  science,  burned  on  an  altar  erected  for 
the  purpose  the  great  work  of  Stahl :  "  Fundamenta  Chemiae  Dog- 
maticae  et  Experimentalis,"  embodying  the  exploded  theory,  while 
a  band  played  a  solemn  requiem  over  its  ashes  ! 

In  biology  the  eighteenth  century  was  chiefly  an  age  of  accumula- 
tion and  classification.  Linnaeus  was  wholly  a  child  of  it,  as  were 
Antoine  and  Bernard  de  Jussieu,  while  Laurent  de  Jussieu  published 
his  "  Genera  Plantarum  "  in  1789,  from  which  the  natural  system  of 
classification  is  usually  counted.  But  the  great  principle  of  organic 
development  through  the  struggle  for  existence,  involving  descent 
with  modification,  was  distinctly  enunciated  by  both  Goethe  and 
Erasmus  Darwin  before  the  close  of  that  century.  We  may  also  add 
to  its  achievements  the  discovery  of  the  nature  of  tissues,  as  well 
as  of  spermatozoa,  by  Louis  Hamm,  a  student  in  the  laboratory  of 
Leeuwenhoek. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  all  the  great  sciences 
were  fairly  established  and  the  number  of  investigators  was  enor- 
mously increased.  All  the  leading  universities  had  long  been  in 
operation  in  Europe  and  several  existed  in  America.  These  were 
turning  their  attention  more  and  more  to  science  and  establishing 
wejl  equipped  laboratories  for  original  research.  All  the  great  sci- 
entific academies  had  long  been  in  existence  and  celebrated  men 
were  associated  with  them.  In  astronomy,  in  physics,  in  chemistry, 
in  geology,  in  all  branches  of  biology,  and  to  some  extent  in  anthro- 


538  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

pology,  observations  and  experiments  were  being  made,  and  every 
field  of  nature  was  being  explored.  Learned  memoirs  were  pub- 
lished, the  transactions  of  academies  and  societies  were  filled  with 
contributions  of  all  kinds  recording  the  results  of  scientific  work, 
and  an  immense  monument  was  in  process  of  erection  to  the  indus- 
try and  zeal  of  an  awakened  world.  Thus  began  that  "  Wonderful 
Century  "  whose  achievements  Dr.  Wallace  has  so  ably  summed  up 
that  it  seems  superfluous  to  attempt  even  an  abridged  enumeration 
of  them.  Nor  is  Wallace  the  only  historian  of  nineteenth  century 
science.  For  all  that  relates  to  the  radiant  forces  Mr.  lies  in  "  Flame, 
Electricity,  and  the  Camera  "  has  grandly  summed  it  up  and  brought 
out  its  salient  points,  and  there  exists  a  considerable  literature 
devoted  to  such  historical  surveys.  One  other  work  especially 
merits  attention,  as  it  emanates  from  a  source  to  which  no  one  would 
think  of  looking  for  such  a  treatise,  viz.,  from  a  committee  of  more 
than  thirty  eminent  French  Catholic  scholars  headed  by  the  rector 
of  the  Catholic  University  of  Paris.1  The  work  is  not,-  as  might 
have  been  surmised,  a  lamentation  over  the  advance  of  materialism, 
but  seems  to  breathe  the  spirit  of  the  age.  In  the  preamble,  written 
by  the  Vicomte  de  Vogue,  "  the  marvellous  advance  of  scientific 
knowledge  in  the  direction  of  subjugating  the  forces  of  nature,  uni- 
fying the  world,  and  transforming  social  life  "  are  put  down  as  the 
chief  characteristics  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  it  is  admitted 
that  the  grand  results  of  the  century  had  their  origin  in  the  cabinet 
of  the  savant,  the  laboratory  of  the  naturalist,  and  the  discoveries 
of  the  explorer. 

It  may,  however,  be  profitable  to  dwell  a  moment  on  the  general 
character  of  nineteenth  century  science,  merely  to  appreciate  its 
drift  and  to  note  the  main  channels  into  which  all  the  antecedent 
streams  of  thought  tended  to  converge.  If  we  take  up  the  different 
sciences  in  their  natural  order  and  give  a  moment's  attention  to  each 
we  shall  soon  see  which  ones  came  out  most  fully  and  received  the 
largest  contributions  from  the  past.  In  other  words  we  shall  see 
what  the  world  regarded  as  the  most  important  directions  for  fresh 
activity  resulting  from  the  long,  largely  unconscious,  and  apparently 
aimless  search  for  truth  through  earlier  centuries.  Beginning  with 
mathematics,  which  for  the  Greeks  was  everything,  which  was  the 

1  "  Un  Siecle.  Mouvement  du  Monde  de  1800  a  1900."  Public"  par  les  soins  d'un 
comite  sous  la  presidence  de  Monseigneur  Pechenard,  Paris,  1901. 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC   DISCOVERY  539 

only  recognized  science  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  which  down  to 
Descartes  and  Leibnitz  was  the  great  respectable  field  of  all  intel- 
lectual exercise,  we  find  the  nineteenth  century  relegating  it  from 
the  position  of  an  end  in  itself  to  a  means  for  the  more  thorough 
prosecution  of  the  concrete  sciences.  Mathematicians  themselves 
of  course  know  many  directions  in  which  their  noble  science  was 
advanced,  but  the  non-mathematical  world  recognizes  scarcely  any 
great  new  principles  that  were  brought  forward.  It  is  true  that 
quarternions  were  discovered  and  an  enormous  literature  grew  up 
relative  to  non-Euclidean  geometry  and  space  of  four  dimensions, 
but  only  the  most  erudite  mathematical  specialists  could  take  part 
in  these  speculations,  and  the  concrete  sciences  have  scarcely  bene- 
fited by  such  discoveries. 

In  astronomy  there  was  intense  activity  and  a  great  series  of 
instrumental  appliances,  especially  telescopes,  was  brought  to  the 
aid  of  the  science.  Many  important  and  a  few  truly  signal  discov- 
eries were  made,  such  as  the  measuring  of  distances  of  the  fixed 
stars,  inaugurated  by  Bessel  in  1839,  the  discoveries  of  Chladni  and 
others  of  the  nature  of  meteoric  streams,  the  discovery  of  the  so- 
called  canals  on  the  surface  of  the  planet  Mars,  and  also  of  the 
satellites  of  that  planet;  still  upon  the  whole,  and  relatively  to 
some  other  sciences,  it  cannot  be  justly  said  that  the  nineteenth 
century  was  specially  characterized  by  astronomical  discovery. 
This,  the  most  exact  and  positive  of  the  concrete  sciences,  the 
most  general  and  least  complex  in  its  laws  and  phenomena,  and 
the  one  whose  method  of  study  is  chiefly  observation,  passed  its 
period  of  supremacy  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  with 
Copernicus,  Tycho  Brahe,  Kepler,  Galileo,  and  Newton.  , 

If  we  turn  to  physics,  the  science  that  stands  next  to  astronomy 
in  the  characteristics  enumerated,  we  see  an  immense  difference. 
This  had  become  a  distinctively  experimental  science.  Its  phe- 
nomena relate  chiefly  to  this  world,  and  they  are  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  welfare  of  man.  Here  was  the  great  field  to  be 
conquered  in  the  interest  of  the  human  race.  The  field  was  ripe  and 
the  tools  were  ready.  There  was  comparatively  little  to  do  in 
barology,  or  that  branch  presided  over  by  the  law  of  gravitation. 
The  pendulum,  the  balance,  specific  gravity,  and  atmospheric  pres- 
sure were  all  known  and  their  principles  had  been  applied.  But  the 
great  underlying  principle  of  the  conservation  of  energy,  although 


540  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

dimly  perceived  from  antiquity,  required  demonstration.  It  received 
it  at  the  hands  of  Mayer,  Helmholtz,  and  Joule,  and  physical  sci- 
ence was  placed  upon  a  basis  that  can  never  be  shaken.  Intimately 
bound  up  with  this  grand  discovery  was  the  true  nature  of  heat, 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  fairly  prophesied  and  almost 
proved,  but  which  was  now  experimentally  established  by  these 
same  investigators.  The  nature  of  light  still  lacked  that  degree  of 
demonstration  that  the  scientific  mind  demands,  and  this  it  received 
through  the  researches  of  Young,  Helmholtz,  Tyndall,  and  Thom- 
son (Lord  Kelvin).  Connected  with  this  there  arose  an  entirely  new 
science,  that  of  spectrum  analysis.  Not  that  Newton,  Euler,  and 
many  others  had  not  studied  the  solar  spectrum.  They  did  not 
found  the  science.  This  was  reserved  for  Kirchhoff  and  Bunsen, 
Huggins  and  Lockyer,  and  a  large  corps  of  investigators  chiefly 
in  the  second  half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  This  new  science 
has  many  arms  and  reaches  out  into  so  many  of  the  other  sciences 
that  it  becomes  difficult  to  classify  it.  It  constitutes  a  large  part 
of  that  other  new  science,  astrophysics,  which,  if  regarded  as  a 
part  of  astronomy,  should  be  excepted  from  the  above  remarks 
relative  to  that  science.  Spectrum  analysis  is  in  large  part  also 
chemistry,  and  furnishes  all  our  knowledge  of  the  chemistry  of 
other  worlds  than  ours.  But  upon  the  whole,  we  may  perhaps 
best  consider  it  a  department  of  physics  in  the  radiant  group. 
Here  too  must  be  noted  the  X-rays  and  all  the  other  ultraspectral 
and  previously  undiscovered  rays  with  unpredictable  properties 
and  powers. 

But  great  as  were  these  advances  in  the  domains  of  heat  and 
light,  those  made  in  that  of  electricity  were  perhaps  still  greater. 
Here  invention  and  discovery  go  hand  in  hand  even  more  than  in 
other  experimental  sciences.  The  great  inventions  were  rapidly 
reviewed  in  the  last  section,  but  new  apparatus  was  required  at 
every  step.  There  is  no  more  perfect  example  of  man  persistently 
wresting  the  secrets  from  nature.  Michael  Faraday  led  the  way, 
and  we  see  successively  towering  up  the  names  of  Jacobi,  Maxwell, 
Henry,  Sturgeon,  Davidson,  Hertz,  either  working  together  or  sepa- 
rately, and  bringing  forward  one  principle  after  another  until  the 
present  edifice  was  successfully  reared.  One  of  the  most  remark- 
able results  has  been  practically  to  identify  the  whole  radiant  group 
of  forces  and  to  demonstrate  the  intimate  association  of  electricity, 


CH.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC  DISCOVERY  541 

magnetism,  light,  and  heat  as  interconvertible  forms  of  cosmic 
energy. 

In  chemistry  there  were  also  great  advances  during  the  nineteenth 
century.  The  atomic  theory  was  firmly  established  by  Berzelius, 
Dalton,  and  others,  and  the  most  important  relations  subsisting 
among  the  chemical  elements  were  worked  out  by  Mendelejeff.  Or- 
ganic chemistry  was  founded  and  the  different  groups  of  organic 
compounds  classified.  The  applications  of  chemistry  to  industry 
and  domestic  life  were  innumerable  and  their  value  incalculable. 
The  social  influence  thus  exerted,  although  less  obvious  and  more 
quiet  was  probably  quite  as  important  as  that  due  to  physical  dis- 
coveries. 

If  the  greatest  triumphs  over  nature  in  the  interest  of  man  took 
place  in  the  domain  of  physics  and  chemistry,  the  deepest  thought 
of  the  nineteenth  century  was  concentrated  upon  the  problem  of  life. 
In  every  science  a  philosophic  period  precedes  the  period  of  maxi- 
mum utilization.  In  astronomy  and  physics  this  philosophic  period 
began  in  the  fifteenth  century  and  lasted  until  the  eighteenth.  The 
nineteenth  century  was  the  philosophic  period  of  biology.  Darwin 
has  often  been  called  the  Newton  of  biology  and  the  comparison  is 
just.  But  it  is  equally  just  to  characterize  Lamarck  as  the  Coperni- 
cus of  biology.  For  by  philosophy  we  do  not  now  mean  speculation, 
or  the  propounding  of  theories  based  chiefly  on  meditation  and 
reflection,  such  as  were  most  of  those,  however  exact,  of  the  ancients. 
We  now  mean  theories  or  hypotheses,  it  may  be,  but  based  on  great 
accumulations  of  facts  and  worked  out  through  the  study  and  com- 
parison of  these  facts.  They  are  in  reality  generalizations  and  each 
step  is  established  by  a  compilation  and  coordination  of  the  facts. 
Such  was  the  heliocentric  theory  as  revived  by  Copernicus,  such 
were  Kepler's  laws,  such  was  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  such  was 
the  atomic  theory  of  chemistry. 

The  Greeks  had  stated  many  of  the  now  recognized  truths  of 
biology,  but  their  theories  were  only  speculations,  wonderful 
glimpses  into  natural  truth,  but  wholly  unsupported  by  scientific 
evidence.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  either  that  along  with  these 
just  glimpses  there  went  the  wildest  vagaries,  and  these  latter 
greatly  outnumbered  the  former.  It  is  only  after  a  great  truth  has 
been  scientifically  established  that  we  go  back  and  pick  out  the  rare 
cases  in  which  it"  had  been  as  it  were  accidentally  hit  upon  in  the 


542  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

midst  of  a  great  mass  of  erroneous  ideas.  These  we  leave  behind 
and  forget,  or  excuse  as  due  to  the  insufficiency  of  the  data  at  the 
command  of  those  ancient  philosophers.  And  we  glean  the  few 
grains  that  we  now  know  to  be  golden,  but  which  the  finders  may 
have  considered  of  little  importance  while  imputing  great  value  to 
what  we  now  know  to  have  been  dross.  It  is  thus  that  the  forerun- 
ners of  most  great  discoveries,  instead  of  being  neglected,  as  is  usu- 
ally supposed,  often  receive  far  more  credit  than  they  really  deserve. 
In  biology,  then  known  as  natural  history  and  divided  into  botany 
and  zoology,  also  including  mineralogy,  vast  accumulations  were  made 
during  the  four  preceding  centuries,  and  from  the  time  of  Linnaeus,  in- 
deed for  a  century  before  his  time,  everything  was  described  and  clas- 
sified, so  that  with  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  entire 
known  vegetable  and  animal  kingdoms  were  represented  in  herbaria 
and  museums  and  all  the  species  that  could  be  distinguished  were  de- 
scribed and  figured  in  large  illustrated  works.  Any  modern  worker 
knows  that  the  literature  goes  back  to  the  seventeenth  and  even  to 
the  sixteenth  century,  although  the  binomial  system  of  nomenclature 
was  introduced  by  Linnaeus,  and  most  of  the  codes  endeavor  to  prevent 
the  use  of  names  of  earlier  date  than  certain  editions  of  his  works. 
But  one  has  only  to  glance  at  those  works  to  see  that  Linnaeus  him- 
self derived  the  names  from  earlier  authors.  This  was  the  period 
of  biological  statics,  and  it  was  supposed  by  all  these  early  naturalists 
that  species  were  absolutely  fixed.  Lamarck  overthrew  this  doctrine 
and  inaugurated  the  period  of  biological  dynamics.  This  new  dis- 
covery of  the  mutability  of  species  and  the  genealogical  descent  of 
organic  forms,  perceived,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Goethe  and  Erasmus 
Darwin,  as  a  poetic  idea,  gave  a  wholly  new  impetus  to  biological 
science.  The  comparison  with  the  corresponding  truth  of  astronomy 
bears  the  closest  inspection.  In  both  sciences  the  discovery  of  a 
general  state  of  movement,  making  the  science  dynamic  instead  of 
static  as  it  had  thus  far  been,  inaugurated  a  new  era  and  enormously 
accelerated  scientific  activity.  And  when  at  last  Darwin,  just  half 
a  century  after  the  appearance  of  Lamarck's  "Philosophic  Zoolo- 
gique"  (1809),  came  out  with  his  "Origin  of  Species  "  (1859),  laden  still 
heavier  with  the  facts  of  observation,  and  announcing  the  additional 
principle  of  natural  selection  which  explains  how  the  transmutation 
of  species  takes  place,  the  whole  world  was  electrified,  and  a  vast 
army  of  investigators  plunged  into  the  field  of  biology  determined 


en.  xix]  SCIENTIFIC  DISCOVERY  543 

to  verify  or  disprove  this  bold  yet  fascinating  hypothesis.  The  result, 
while  it  raised  the  hypothesis  to  a  law  of  nature,  also  filled  the 
world  with  knowledge  of  organic  life  and  placed  biology  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  advancing  sciences. 

Without  attempting  to  enumerate  the  biological  truths  disclosed 
during  the  nineteenth  century,  the  cellular  theory  may  be  mentioned 
as  a  type  of  them,  as  also  the  nature  of  tissues  in  the  Metazoa,  grow- 
ing out  of  a  knowledge  of  the  cell.  The  cell  is  the  biological  unit 
and  the  whole  science  of  biology  (histology,  morphology,  physiology) 
rests  upon  it.  Biit  a  deeper  problem  was  attacked  in  the  second 
half  of  the  century,  a  problem  which  has  not  yet  been  solved,  viz., 
that  of  the  constitution  of  the  cell  and  the  ultimate  unit  of  heredity. 
The  solution  of  this  problem  will  answer  the  question :  What  is 
life? 

The  law  of  evolution,  in  large  part  biological,  but  also  cosmologi- 
cal,  nay,  also  anthropological,  psychological,  and  sociological,  has 
been  almost  wholly  the  product  of  nineteenth  century  science.  It 
is  probably  che  most  important  of  all  the  generalizations  of  the 
human  intellect.  It  comes  the  nearest  of  all  the  truths  that  have 
been  discovered  to  rendering  man  and  society  conscious  of  them- 
selves. Self-consciousness  consists  in  the  state  at  which  a  being 
asks  the  questions :  What?  Whence?  Whither?  Evolution  furnishes 
the  first  answer  that  science  has  ever  made  to  these  questions. 
In  so  far  as  its  truths  are  known  they  dispel  all  the  mystery 
that  enshrouds  the  intellect.  Not  content  with  the  conquest  of 
nature  and  the  subjection  of  its  laws  to  human  uses,  man  re- 
solved to  find  out  what  he  was,  whence  he  came,  and  what  was 
to  be  his  destiny.  He  proceeded  to  interrogate  nature  at  all 
points,  and  the  thousand  conflicting  and  commingled  answers 
that  he  got,  all  rolled  together,  when  closely  listened  to,  were 
found  to  spell  out  the  talismanic  word:  Evolution. 


CHAPTER   XX 

SOCIALIZATION  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

IT  was  shown  in  Chapter  III  that  the  subject-matter  of  sociology 
is  human  achievement.  The  remaining  sixteen  chapters  thus 
far  written  may  be  regarded  as  being  devoted  to  the  task  of  ex- 
plaining what  human  achievement  consists  in  and  how  it  has  been 
wrought.  Not  until  the  last  chapter  was  reached  was  it  possible  to 
show  the  full  significance  of  human  achievement  as  the  practical 
conquest  of  nature  and  the  subjection  of  all  the  materials  and  forces 
of  nature  to  the  control  and  service  of  man.  This  has  been  accom- 
plished mainly  through  the  exercise  of  the  directive  agent  in  chang- 
ing the  mode  of  motion  of  physical  bodies,  so  that  by  a  sort  of  vortex 
action  they  are  made  to  pour  into  the  channels  of  human  advantage 
instead  of  pursuing  their  natural  courses  and  either  running  to  waste 
or  causing  injury  to  human  interests.  Social  evolution  consists  in 
this,  and  differs  radically  from  organic  evolution,  since  in  the  latter 
it  is  the  environment  that  transforms  the  organism,  while  in  the 
former  man  transforms  the  environment. 

No  one  of  course  will  question  that  all  this  belongs  to  sociology. 
In  transforming  the  physical  environment  the  entire  social  system 
is  profoundly  affected  and  society  itself  is  transformed.  Although 
this  is  accomplished  wholly  through  telic  activity,  still  there  is  a 
sense  in  which  social  evolution  thus  brought  about  may  be  regarded 
as  genetic.  What  the  economists  call  the  law  of  supply  and  demand 
is  a  natural  law.  It  is  to  be  compared  with  the  law  by  which 
air  rushes  into  a  vacuum,  and  which,  before  the  nature  of  the  atmos- 
phere and  of  atmospheric  pressure  was  discovered,  could  only  be 
explained  by  saying  that  "nature  abhors  a  vacuum."  And  it  is  the 
same  law  that  governs  the  movement  of  the  atmosphere  over  the 
whole  globe  and  determines  the  direction  and  velocity  of  the  winds. 
This  economic,  or  rather,  sociologic  law  is  not  affected  by  the  fact 
that  social  demands  are  in  large  part  supplied  through  the  sagacious 
foresight  of  shrewd  business  men  in  a  manner  that  is  preeminently 

544 


CH.  xx]  SOCIALIZATION  OF   ACHIEVEMENT  545 

telic,  although  strictly  individualistic.  For  example,  as  a  modern 
city  grows  street  railway  lines  are  gradually  extended  farther  and 
farther  out  into  the  suburbs  to  anticipate  the  increasing  demands,  and 
this  will  take  place  although  the  citizens  of  those  sections  make  no 
special  demand  and  take  no  steps  to  secure  it.  The  corporations 
controlling  the  urban  lines  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  increase  the 
volume  of  their  business,  and  by  the  exercise  of  a  strictly  telic 
method  forestall  any  such  demand  on  the  part  of  the  citizens,  who 
from  inherent  inertia,  natural  conservatism,  personal  indifference, 
and  especially  defective  organization,  would  be  extremely  slow 
to  move  in  such  matters,  and  could  scarcely  be  brought  to  the  point 
of  raising  the  funds  necessary  to  construct  such  lines.  Now 
although  every  step  in  social  development  of  this  kind  is  telic,  still 
the  development  itself  is  genetic,  and  only  goes  on  as  fast  as  or 
a  trifle  faster  than  is  necessary  fully  to  supply  the  demand.  Busi- 
ness shrewdness  takes  into  account  the  future  growth  of  the 
sections  supplied  and  reaches  a  little  farther  out  than  the  actual 
conditions  of  things  require,  so  that  perhaps  for  a  short  time  the  ser- 
vice may  be  attended  with  slight  -pecuniary  loss,  to  be  more  than 
compensated  by  the  increased  volume  of  business  in  the  near  future, 
a  considerable  part  of  which,  as  is  also  foreseen,  will  be  due  to  the 
superior  attraction  that  such  sections  will  possess  as  a  consequence 
of  the  facilities  thus  supplied.  Thus  is  social  genesis  secured 
through  individual  telesis. 

If  we  look  over  the  whole  field  of  human  achievement  and  social 
evolution  we  shall  see  that  by  far  the  greater  part  of  it  belongs  to 
the  class  just  described.  The  initiative  is  almost  exclusively  indi- 
vidual and  the  ends  sought  are  egocentric  in  the  widest  sense,  which 
must  include  the  satisfaction  of  intellectual,  moral,  and  even  tran- 
scendental interests  as  well  as  those  so-called  physical  wants  that 
have  to  do  with  the  functions  of  nutrition  and  reproduction.  The 
social  consequences,  as  was  shown  in  Chapter  XI,  are  unintended, 
and  social  evolution,  however  large  the  telic  factor  in  it  may  be,  is 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  unconscious.  In  fact,  so  far  as  the 
phrase  "  social  evolution"  is  concerned,  I  would  restrict  it  wholly  to 
this  aspect,  and  would  exclude  from  it  any  and  all  effects  that  can 
be  shown  to  have  been  consciously  produced.  Such  effects  do  not 
belong  to  evolution.  They  are  products  of  social  or  collective  telesis, 
and  may  be  called  institution. 

2N 


PUKE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 


SOCIALIZATION 

The  word  socialization,  now  much  used  by  certain  writers,  is  as 
yet  undifferentiated  and  has  been  given  various  shades  of  meaning, 
though  all  more  or  less  connected  with  the  ideas  conveyed  by  the 
word  social.  As  this  is  a  popular  and  not  a  technical  word,  socializa- 
tion naturally  takes  a  wide  range  and  would  be  of  little  use  to  soci- 
ology if  it  could  not  be  limited  to  a  single,  definite  meaning.  The 
dictionaries  only  reflect  the  current  vagueness,  sometimes  allying  it 
to  sociability  and  sometimes  to  socialism.  There  has  been,  however, 
of  late  a  tendency  on  the  part  of  careful  writers  to  give  to  the  verb 
socialize  and  the  noun  socialization  a  special  meaning  susceptible  to 
exact  definition.  Thus,  to  socialize  an  industry,  for  example,  means 
that  society  takes  it  under  its  charge  and  conducts  it  for  its  benefit. 
All  industries  are,  at  least  thus  far,  initiated  by  individuals  and  con- 
ducted for  their  benefit.  As  all  industries  are  in  the  nature  of 
a  supply  to  a  public  demand,  in  order  to  succeed  even  in  benefiting 
the  individual  they  must  also  benefit  society,  and  it  has  been  claimed 
with  much  show  of  truth  that  there  is  and  must  necessarily  be  a  per- 
fect adjustment  between  individual  and  social  advantage  in  order 
that  the  industry  be  inaugurated  and  carried  on.  This  was  the 
standpoint  of  the  old  political  economists.  It  is  also  the  standpoint 
of  some  sociologists  even  now,  as,  for  example,  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer. 
But  most  modern  economists  and  sociologists,  while  recognizing  it 
as  an  important  principle,  decline  to  admit  its  universality.  In  this, 
however,  they  do  but  reflect  the  view  of  the  great  master,  Adam 
Smith,  who,  like  Darwin,  and  great  masters  generally,  saw  deeper 
than  his  professed  disciples.1 

It  is  not  proposed  to  open  up  this  large  question  here,  which  in 
fact  belongs  rather  to  applied  sociology.  We  are  only  seeking 
a  definition  of  socialization  that  shall  be  at  once  correct  and  definite 
in  the  sense  that  it  shall  always  mean  the  same  thing.  This  is  not 
secured  by  including  in  it  everything  that  has  a  social  value  or 
a  social  effect.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  human 
achievement  that  does  not  answer  this  description.  All  individual 
action  of  any  importance  has  a  social  bearing.  Socialization  must 
exclude  all  social  effects  that  are  only  incidental.  This  sweeps 

1  Compare  the  much  neglected  paragraph  with  which  he  closed  Book  I  of  the 
"  Wealth  of  Nations." 


CH.  xx]  SOCIAL   REGULATION  547 

away  at  one  stroke  all  that  results  from  the  principle  of  conation, 
explained  in  Chapter  XI.  These  effects,  though  truly  social,  and 
though  mighty  and  far-reaching,  are  wholly  unconscious  and  unin- 
tended. As  there  shown,  they  are  undesired  even  by  the  individual 
and  unwelcome  to  society.  They  belong  to  the  great  unconscious 
means  by  which  nature  brings  about  changes  in  the  types  of  social 
structure  and  consequent  social  evolution  in  the  strictly  genetic 
sense.  Socialization  is  conscious,  intentional,  wished  for,  and  wel- 
comed telic  action,  not  of  the  individual  as  such,  but  of  those  indi- 
viduals into  whose  hands  society,  by  whatever  means,  intrusts  the 
conduct  of  its  affairs. 

Pure  sociology  can  go  no  farther  than  to  inquire  what  has  actually 
been  accomplished  in  this  direction,  although  it  would  be  legitimate 
to  reason  from  this  to  what  is  likely  to  be  accomplished  in  the 
future.  But  this  latter  is  more  or  less  hazardous,  and  it  is  better 
to  confine  ourselves,  at  least  at  the  outset,  to  the  past  and  the 
present.  At  first  glance  it  might  seem  that  very  little  would  be 
found  to  reward  such  a  search.  When  we  survey  human  achieve- 
ment through  the  conquest  of  nature,  as  this  was  sketched  in  the 
last  chapter,  the  individual  seems  to  be  everything  and  society  noth- 
ing but  the  passive  beneficiary  of  all  this  gain  as  it  leaks  through 
the  individual's  hands  and  diffuses  itself  throughout  the  social 
mass.  It  is  indeed  true  that  society  in  its  collective  capacity  makes 
few  inventions  or  scientific  discoveries,  and  it  also,  for  the  most 
part,  leaves  the  practical  application  of  these  to  social  ends,  to  pri- 
vate enterprise  and  the  keen  business  instincts  of  individuals, 
capitalists,  and  the  various  voluntary  organizations  devoted  to  the 
accumulation  of  wealth.  For  anything  answering  to  our  definition 
of  socialization  we  have  to  look  elsewhere,  or  at  least  we  must  place 
ourselves  at  a  different  point  of  view  and  consider  the  whole  subject 
from  a  new  angle  of  vision.  To  find  such  a  view  point  we  will  need 
to  go  back  almost  as  far  as  was  done  in  Part  II,  and  retrace  some  of 
the  early  steps  there  sketched,  but  in  the  fuller  light  of  subsequent 
discussions. 

SOCIAL  REGULATION 

The  classification  of  the  functions  of  society  into  regulative  and 
operative l  is  fundamental.  We  may  give  to  both  functions  a  wider 

1  Herbert  Spencer,  "The  Principles  of  Sociology,"  Vol.  I,  New  York,  1877, 
p.  459  (§210). 


548  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

scope  than  is  usually  done,  and,  adapting  it  to  the  present  discussion, 
we  may  say  that  while  human  achievement  constitutes  one  at  least 
of  the  most  important  operative  functions  of  society,  social  regulation 
is  that  which  makes  it  possible,  is  in  fact  a  sine  qua  non  of  it.  But 
the  conception  of  achievement  must  now  be  widened,  and  made  to 
include  the  regulative  function  itself.  Examining  this  further  we 
shall  see  that  social  regulation  is  no  longer  individual  achievement 
but  collective  achievement,  and  we  have  here  the  condition  itself  to 
all  achievement  as  a  product,  not  of  individual,  but  of  social  telesis. 
Let  us  look  further  into  this. 

It  is  generally  recognized  that  many  animals  are  only  enabled  to 
survive  in  the  struggle  for  existence  by  dint  of  their  gregarious 
or  social  habits.  But  none  of  these  are  able  to  migrate  indefinitely 
and  people  the  whole  globe.  This  was  the  prerogative  of  man,  but 
not  until  he  had  not  only  acquired  the  social  habit  but  had  developed 
the  regulative  function.  Whether  this  was  matriarchal  or  patri- 
archal, royal  or  sacerdotal,  it  was  regulative,  and  had  the  power  to 
check  all  wayward  tendencies  inimical  to  the  race.  In  fact,  long 
before  there  was  anything  that  deserves  the  name  of  government 
there  existed  that  group  sentiment  of  the  need  of  race  preservation, 
which,  call  it  religion,  law,  government,  or  whatever  you  choose, 
actually  regulated  the  horde,  clan,  or  social  group,  and  permitted  the 
operative  functions  to  go  on.  Not  merely  the  sentiment,  but  also 
the  corresponding  social  structure  existed,  capable  of  enforcing  the 
requirements  of  the  group  and  punishing  all  antisocial  violations  of 
the  group  will.  This  was  chiefly  in  the  nature  of  "  ceremonial  gov- 
ernment," but  it  was  effective  and  all  that  was  needed  at  that  stage 
of  social  development.  This  group  sentiment  was  at  least  dimly 
conscious.  It  was  certainly  intentional,  and  the  results  accomplished 
were  desired  and  welcomed.  It  was  a  product  of  the  group  mind 
and  had  all  the  essential  qualities  of  a  telic  phenomenon,  but  it  was 
not  egoistic  except  in  the  sense  that  the  group  constitutes  an  ego. 
This  in  fact  it  does,  and  all  collective  action  must  be  regarded  as 
the  action  of  a  unit  or  collective  individual  pursuing  ends  that  are 
its  own.  All  this  becomes  increasingly  true  through  all  the  early 
stages  of  society  until  we  arrive  at  the  metasocial  stage  following 
upon  the  first  race  amalgamation  due  to  conquest  and  subjugation.  . 

Legal  Regulation.  —  It  was  shown  in  Chapter  X  that  the  first  step 
in  the  direction  of  the  amalgamation  of  two  races  thus  brought  to- 


en.  xx  j  THE  STATE  549 

gether  was  the  gradual  substitution  of  a  form  of  general  regulation 
for  the  crude  special  regulation  of  the  military  power,  which  ulti- 
mately became  too  onerous  and  annoying  for  the  conquering  race 
longer  to  tolerate.  This  took  the  form  of  primitive  law  and  finally 
grew  into  a  system  of  jurisprudence.  It  was  the  natural  homologue 
at  this  stage  of  the  primordial  group  regulation  or  ceremonial  gov- 
ernment, and  no  doubt  many  of  the  features  of  the  former  were 
retained  as  a  basis  for  the  latter.  The  power  was  still  military,  but 
the  amount  of  energy  that  it  was  necessary  to  expend  in  enforcing 
general  rules  was  far  less  than  had  been  required  to  treat  each  case 
separately.  Although  primarily  devoted  to  holding  down  the  sub- 
ject race,  this  system  proved  capable  of  being  applied  to  other  forms 
of  regulation. 

TJie  State.  —  By  far  the  most  important  consequence  of  this,  as 
we  also  saw  in  Chapter  X,  was  the  constitution  of  the  state.  The 
discovery  of  the  true  origin  and  nature  of  the  state  might  have  been 
included  among  the  scientific  discoveries  so  rudely  sketched  in  the 
last  chapter.  It  has  brushed  away  a  greater  amount  of  error  than 
almost  any  other  established  truth  in  science.  All  the  old  ideas  of 
the  origin  of  the  state  are  placed  by  it  in  the  same  list  as  the  geocen- 
tric and  Ptolemaic  theories  of  astronomy,  the  doctrine  of  phlogiston 
in  chemistry,  and  those  of  special  creation  and  the  immutability  of 
species  in  biology.  There  is  no  longer  any  social  compact,  no  divine 
right  of  kings  or  of  "  the  powers  that  be,"  no  abstract  right.  By  a 
perfectly  natural,  evolutionary  process  society  everywhere  and  always 
has  worked  out  a  regulative  system  which,  while  not  an  organism, 
may  still  be  compared  with  the  regulative  system  of  the  Metazoan 
body,  and  has  precisely  the  same  sanction  as  a  positive  fact.  The 
state  is  a  natural  product,  as  much  as  an  animal  or  a  plant,  or  as 
man  himself.  . 

The  basis  of  the  state  is  law.  It  was  the  necessity  for  general 
regulation  to  take  the  place  of  the  wasteful  and  difficult  special  regu- 
lation incident  to  conquest  that  gradually  gave  rise  to  a  system  of 
law,  and  it  was  the  necessity  for  a  social  mechanism  capable  of  en- 
forcing law  that  the  state  grew  up  and  took  definite  form.  It  was 
shown  that  until  the  state  was  formed  there  could  be  no  property. 
Every  one  must  keep  his  belongings  on  his  person  and  defend  them 
at  every  step.  No  matter  how  anything  may  have  been  acquired, 
every  one  has  the  same  right  to  it  and  may  seize  it  wherever  found. 


550  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  right  outside  the  state.  If  property  can- 
not exist  except  under  the  protection  of  the  state  there  can  of  course 
be  no  such  thing  as  capital.  There  can  be  no  industry  in  the  eco- 
nomic sense.  There  is  no  use  accumulating;  the  surplus  cannot  be 
retained.  Wealth  is  only  possible  under  the  state.  The  more 
we  reflect  upon  it  the  clearer  we  see  that  while  the  state  itself 
achieves  little,  it  is  the  condition  to  nearly  all  achievement.  The 
state  was  primarily  the  mediator  between  conflicting  races.  Imme- 
diately following  the  conquest  the  conquered  race  had  no  status. 
It  was  completely  under  the  dominion  of  the  conquering  race. 
Under  the  state  as  soon  as  formed  the  conquered  race  acquired 
rights  and  the  members  of  the  conquering  race  were  assigned  duties. 
The  state  thus  becomes  a  powerful  medium  of  social  assimilation. 
The  capable  and  meritorious  of  the  subject  race  are  given  opportunity 
to  exercise  their  faculties.  The  members  of  the  superior  race  not 
belonging  to  the  nobility  or  the  priestly  caste  enter  into  business 
arrangements,  become  a  mercantile  or  capitalist  class,  and  control 
the  finances  of  the  people.  These  two  classes  blend  and  ultimately 
form  the  "  third  estate,"  which,  on  account  of  its  activity  and  useful- 
ness, is  destined  to  increase  in  influence,  as  all  history  has  shown. 
From  it  chiefly,  too,  are  recruited  all  the  inventors,  artists,  and 
finally  the  men  of  letters  and  of  science.  Even  in  Greece  the  priest- 
hood had  ceased  to  supply  the  brain  of  the  race.  After  the  revival 
of  learning  in  Western  Europe  the  nobility  and  the  clergy  fell  almost 
entirely  out  of  the  ranks  of  those  who  were  advancing  the  world. 
From  that  time  social  progress  was  intrusted  to  the  middle  class, 
the  industrial  and  commercial  class.  Many  eminent  men  of  science, 
however,  as  de  Candolle  shows,  have  been  sons  or  descendants  of 
Protestant  clergymen.  The  Catholic  clergy,  having  no  descendants, 
contributed  next  to  nothing. 

There  is  much  less  difference  than  appears  at  first  sight  between 
the  function  or  mission  of  the  state  and  that  of  the  primordial 
regulative  institution  which  secured  the  preservation  of  primitive 
society.  It  is  the  natural  successor  of  that,  only  operating  on  a 
much  higher  plane.  The  social  forces  as  such  are,  like  the  physical 
forces,  centrifugal  and  destructive.  The  intuitive  reason  or  egoistic 
intellect  only  renders  them  more  so.  There  was  absolute  need  at 
the  outset  of  regulation  and  restraint  to  prevent  the  destruction  of 
the  race,  and  the  first  collective  action  was  taken  with  this  end 


CH.  xx]  THE   STATE  551 

in  view.  At  the  stage  which  produced  the  state  this  unrestrained 
individualism  was  as  strong  as  ever  and  equally  destructive  of 
order.  However  natural  the  origin  of  the  state  may  seem  when  we 
understand  the  conditions  that  called  it  forth,  it  was,  in  the  last 
analysis,  the  result  of  a  social  necessity  for  checking  and  curbing 
this  individualism  and  of  holding  the  social  forces  within  a  certain 
orbit  where  they  could  interact  without  injury  and  where  they 
could  do  constructive  work.  Without  such  restraint  the  competi- 
tion in  society  knows  no  bounds.  It  is  the  law  of  the  strongest  and 
would  ultimately  restrict  the  human  race  to  limited  areas  and  con- 
ditions. The  law  of  the  multiplication  or  exaggeration  of  effects 
is  in  full  force  here  as  in  the  inorganic  and  the  organic  world.  The 
first  important  consequence  of  this  law  is,  as  in  the  rest  of  nature, 
to  put  an  end  to  competition  and  pass  on  to  the  next  stage  which 
is  monopoly.  Just  as  one  strong  plant  or  weed  may  invade  a  virgin 
flora  and  drive  out  every  indigenous  plant,  covering  vast  tracts  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else,  so  in  society  without  a  regulative 
apparatus,  only  the  strong  will  remain,  and  all  the  more  delicate 
elements  that  give  variety  to  existence  and  render  culture,  art,  and 
science  possible  will  be  ruthlessly  crushed  out.  The  state  was  the 
semi-unconscious  product  of  a  sort  of  group  sense  of  this,  organizing 
the  machinery  for  the  protection  of  the  physically  weaker,  but 
socially  better  elements  calculated  to  enrich,  embellish,  and  ulti- 
mately to  solidify  and  advance  social  conditions. 

The  state  was  therefore  the  most  important  step  taken  by  man 
in  the  direction  of  controlling  the  social  forces.  The  only  possible 
object  in  doing  this  was  the  good  of  society  as  a  whole.  In  part  it 
was  no  doubt  a  sentiment  of  safety.  The  greatest  good  possible 
would  be  its  salvation.  But  this  ethical  sentiment  was  something 
more  than  mere  race  ethics.  There  was  mingled  with  it  some  idea 
of  actual  social  benefit.  This  went  still  farther  and  embraced 
some  vague  conception  of  amelioration  and  of  social  progress. 
Ratzenhofer  says :  — 

Thus  the  state  becomes  an  instrument  of  morality  as  the  ethical  effect 
of  the  social  process ;  out  of  the  construction  of  society  there  results  the 
conscious  sacrifice  of  the  individual  in  behalf  of  the  community.1 

It  is  fashionable  in  certain  circles  to  attack  and  abuse  the  state, 
but  most  of  this  is  done  by  individuals  whose  personal  ends  have 
1  "  Die  Sociologische  Erkenntnis,"  p.  167. 


552  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [HART  in 

been  thwarted  in  the  interest  of  the  people,  or  by  unthinking  per- 
sons who  merely  repeat  such  statements  which  they  find  current. 
But  nearly  everybody,  and  especially  the  weaker,  who  also  con- 
stitute much  the  larger  classes  of  society,  instinctively  feel  that 
the  state  means  well  for  them  and  is  always  doing  all  that  the 
influential  classes  will  allow  it  to  do  for  the  benefit  of  society  at 
large.  Thus,  says  Simmel :  — 

The  highest  wish  of  the  Spartan  and  Thessalian  slaves  was  to  become 
slaves  of  the  state  rather  than  of  individuals.  In  Prussia  before  the  emanci- 
pation of  the  serfs  the  peasants  attached  to  the  state  domains  had  a  much 
preferable  lot  to  that  of  those  upon  private  estates.  The  situation  of  India 
under  British  administration  is  far  better  than  under  the  sway  of  the  East 
India  Company  and  its  private  interests.1 

The  old  maxim  of  the  common  law  that  "the  king  can  do  no 
wrong  "  merely  reflects  this  truth.  The  state  can  only  err.  It  can- 
not commit  crime  or  do  a  wrong  act.  It  has  no  malice  or  enmity,  at 
least  toward  its  own  citizens.  Their  good  is  all  it  knows  or  aims  at. 
Gumplowicz  even  goes  further :  — 

The  social  struggle  consists  in  executing  and  realizing  the  institutions 
which  constitute,  at  the  expense  of  other  circles,  the  power  of  the  circle  to 
which  any  one  belongs.  A  society,  whatever  may  be  the  errors  of  individ- 
uals, never  errs  when  it  is  a  question  of  utilizing  these  means,  of  appro- 
priating them,  and  of  setting  them  to  work.  .  .  .  The  individual  often 
goes  about  listening  to  doctrines  and  becoming  inspired  by  sentiments; 
society  moves  straight  forward  on  its  own  road,  which  is  the  right  road. 
Why?  Because  instead  of  reflecting  and  choosing,  it  obeys,  by  virtue  of  a 
law  of  nature,  the  powerful  impulse  which  its  interests  exert  upon  if  .* 

Gumplowicz  may  here  mean  that  while  individuals  may,  in  pur- 
suing their  own  ends,  do  injury  to  others  on  account  of  the  conflict 
of  interests  necessary  to  a  plurality  of  individuals,  the  state,  stand- 
ing as  it  does  alone,  can  safely  pursue  its  ends,  there  being  no  pos- 
sibility of  conflict.  If  we  could  imagine  one  individual,  person,  or 
human  being,  wholly  isolated,  having  110  relations  with  any  other, 
and  acting  strictly  in  his  own  interest,  the  moral  element  would  be 
removed  and  he  could  do  no  wrong.  It  is  the  same  with  the  state 
considered  in  the  abstract,  i.e.,  without  reference  to  other  states. 

But  there  is  a  still  more  important  consideration.  The  state, 
although  essentially  an  instrument  of  restraint  to  its  members,  is  in 

1  American  Journal  of  Sociology ,  Vol.  II,  September,  1896,  p.  179. 

2  "  Precis  de  Sociologie,"  par  Louis  Gumplowicz,  Paris,  189(5,  p.  248.    Compare  also 
pp.  295,  296. 


CH.  xx]  THE   STATE  553 

fact  a  means  of  making  them  free.  Katzenhofer  has  clearly  seized 
this  truth.  Using  the  term  society  in  the  sense  of  the  members 
of  society,  or  at  least,  of  small  social  groups,  in  contradistinction  to 
the  state,  he  sets  forth  the  principle  as  follows :  — 

The  state  with  its  historically  developed  social  structure  finds  itself  in  a 
continual  struggle  with  fractions  of  social  groups,  whereby  there  is  brought 
about  at  any  given  stage  of  culture  a  regulative  effect  between  the  policy  of 
the  state  and  that  of  society.  Society,  with  its  states  and  the  social  groups 
attached  to  both,  develops  into  a  social  organization  in  which  the  social 
need  is  expressed  by  a  mutual  process  of  constraint  and  liberation.  Since 
we  must  regard  the  social  process  as  unconditioned,  the  opposition  of  state 
and  society  is  not  a  hostile  one  in  which  the  state  is  striving  to  check  the 
social  process,  or  society  as  the  protector  of  collective  interests  is  seeking  to 
dissolve  the  states,  but  this  antithesis  is  socially  advantageous  (ferderlich). 
State  and  society  mutually  complete  each  other  and  maintain  the  social 
process  in  its  path  of  general  advantageous  operation.  The  active  recon- 
ciliation of  dominant  interests  in  these  two  complex  individualities,  state 
and  society,  is  seen  primarily  in  the  fact  that  in  their  principal  aspects  the 
interests  of  each  are  the  same.  In  the  state  individual  interests  must  give 
way  to  collective  interests,  so  that  there  results  a  harmonizing  of  interests, 
i.e.,  a  relative  freeing  of  all  individual  interests  from  a  constraint  that  lies 
outside  of  the  social  need ;  the  state  is  thus  a  power  whose  end  is  liberation.1 

De  Greef,  to  much  the  same  effect,  remarks :  — 

Thus  the  theoretical  debate  between  the  individual  and  the  state  resolves 
itself  into  a  transformation  of  the  state  for  the  greatest  good  of  individuals, 
and  the  intervention  of  the  collective  power  expands  and  justifies  itself  by 
the  constant  reduction,  it  is  true,  of  despotic  forms  of  this  intervention,  but 
also  by  the  actual  growth  of  this  latter  by  means  of  superior  forms  of  self- 
government  in  the  interest  of  individual  liberty.2 

Those  who  attack  the  state  either  do  not  know,  or  else  they  tem- 
porarily forget  that  it  is  a  product  of  evolution.  It  would  be  quite 
as  rational  to  attack  the  solar  system  or  the  vertebrate  type  of 
structure.  Comte  in  one  of  his  early  papers  remarks :  — 

These  various  views  are  evidently  conformable  to  the  laws  of  human 
nature,  and  alone  permit  us  to  explain  political  phenomena  in  a  satisfactory 
manner.  Thus,  in  the  last  analysis,  instead  of  seeing  in  the  past  a  tissue  of 
monstrosities,  we  should  be  able  in  a  general  way  to  regard  society  as  hav- 
ing been  most  frequently  as  well  directed  in  all  respects  as  the  nature  of 
things  permitted.8 

1  Ratzenhofer,  ibid.,  pp.  235-236. 

2  "  Les  Lois  Sociologiques,"  par  Guillaume  De  Greef,  2«  ed.,  Paris,  1896,  p.  151. 

8 "  Plan  des  travaux  scientifiques  necessaires  pour  reorganiser  la  societe"." 
Premiere  serie  des  travaux.  Appendix  to  Vol.  IV  of  the  "Systeme  de  Politique 
Positive,"  p.  116. 


554  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

De  Greef  states  the  fact  as  follows :  — 

In  reality,  society  always  governs  itself,  only  it  does  it  in  a  more  or  less 
conscious  and  contractual  way ;  the  alleged  despots  are  only  social  agents, 
and  often  fulfill  their  office  ignorant  of  the  force  that  impels  them  and  draws 
them  on.  Social  bonds  being  at  the  outset  naturally  loose,  it  was  necessary 
that  this  bond  be  as  far  as  possible  maintained  by  force ;  despotism  was  a 
societary  development  (formation)  as  natural  at  that  time  as  charters,  con- 
stitutions, deliberative  assemblies,  and  the  various  more  or  less  perfected 
forms  by  which  society  to-day  tends  to  conduct  itself  from  its  own  collective 
impulse  resulting  from  the  free  assent  of  each  of  its  members.1 

Mr.  Spencer  is  one  of  those  who  knows  all  this  perfectly  well,  but 
often  temporarily  forgets  it  and  follows  what  seems  to  have  been  an 
early  acquired  bias  against  the  state,  due  no  doubt,  as  are  most 
prejudices,  to  what  I  have  called  "  the  illusion  of  the  near."  This 
was  notably  the  case  with  the  series  of  papers  published  by  him 
in  1884.2  These  represent  Herbert  Spencer  the  impatient  critic  of 
contemporary  local  politics.  But  let  us  listen  to  Herbert  Spencer 
the  philosopher  in  1860  when  he  had  just  completed  the  organiza- 
tion of  his  "  Synthetic  Philosophy  "  :  — 

We  all  know  that  the  enactments  of  representative  governments  ulti- 
mately depend  on  the  national  will  :  they  may  for  a  time  be  out  of  harmony 
with  it,  but  eventually  they  must  conform  to  it.  And  to  say  that  the 
national  will  finally  determines  them  is  to  say  that  they  result  from  the 
average  of  individual  desires ;  or  in  other  words,  from  the  average  of  indi- 
vidual natures.  A  law  so  initiated,  therefore,  really  grows  out  of  the  popu- 
lar character. 

In  the  case  of  a  government  representing  a  dominant  class,  the  same 
thing  holds,  though  not  so  manifestly.  For  the  very  existence  of  a  class 
monopolizing  all  power  is  due  to  certain  sentiments  in  the  community. 
But  for  the  feeling  of  loyalty  on  the  part  of  retainers,  a  feudal  system 
could  not  exist.  We  see  in  the  protest  of  the  Highlanders  against  the 
abolition  of  hereditable  jurisdictions,  that  they  preferred  that  kind  of  local 
rule.  And  if  to  the  popular  nature  must  thus  be  ascribed  the  growth  of  an 
irresponsible  ruling  class,  then  to  the  popular  nature  must  be  ascribed  the 
social  arrangements  which  that  class  creates  in  the  pursuit  of  its  own  ends. 
Even  where  the  government  is  despotic,  the  doctrine  still  holds.  The  char- 
acter of  the  people  is,  as  before,  the  original  source  of  this  political  form  ; 
and,  as  we  have  abundant  proof,  other  forms  suddenly  created  will  not  act, 

1  "  Introduction   a  la  Sociologie,"    Premiere   Partie,  par   Guillaume  De  Greef, 
Bruxelles,  Paris,'1886,  pp.  205-206. 

2  "The  New   Toryism,"    "The   Coming   Slavery,"   "The  Sins  of   Legislators," 
"The  Great  Political  Superstition,"  Contemporary  Review,  February  to  July,  1884. 
Appended  to  "  Social  Statics,"  abridged  and  revised,  New  York,  1892,  under  the  gen- 
eral title,  "  The  Man  versus  the  State." 


en.  xx]  COLLECTIVE  ACHIEVEMENT  555 

but  rapidly  retrograde  to  the  old  form.  Moreover,  such  regulations  as  a 
despot  makes,  if  really  operative,  are  so  because  of  their  fitness  to  the  social 
state.  His  acts  being  very  much  swayed  by  general  opinion  —  by  precedent, 
by  the  feeling  of  his  nobles,  his  priesthood,  his  army  —  are  in  part  immedi- 
ate results  of  the  national  character ;  and  when  they  are  out  of  harmony 
with  the  national  character  they  are  soon  practically  abrogated. 

The  failure  of  Cromwell  permanently  to  establish  a  new  social  condition, 
and  the  rapid  revival  of  suppressed  institutions  and  practices  after  his  death, 
show  how  powerless  is  a  monarch  to  change  the  type  of  the  society  he  gov- 
erns. He  may  disturb,  he  may  retard,  or  he  may  aid  the  natural  process  of 
organization ;  but  the  general  course  of  this  process  is  beyond  his  control.1 

We  thus  see  that  the  state,  though  genetic  in  its  origin,  is  telic  in 
its  method ;  that  it  has  but  one  purpose,  function,  or  mission,  that 
of  securing  the  welfare  of  society ;  that  its  mode  of  operation  is  that 
of  preventing  the  antisocial  actions  of  individuals ;  that  in  doing 
this  it  increases  the  freedom  of  human  action  so  long  as  it  is  not 
antisocial ;  that  the  state  is  therefore  essentially  moral  or  ethical ; 
that  its  own  acts  must  necessarily  be  ethical ;  that  being  a  natural 
product  it  must  in  a  large  sense  be  representative  ;  that  in  point  of 
fact  it  always  is  as  good  as  society  will  permit  it  to  be ;  that  while 
thus  far  in  the  history  of  society  the  state  has  rarely  performed 
acts  that  tend  to  advance  mankind,  it  has  been  the  condition  to  all 
achievement,  making  possible  all  the  social,  industrial,  artistic,  liter- 
ary, and  scientific  activities  that  go  on  within  the  state  and  under 
its  protection.  There  is  no  other  human  institution  with  which  the 
state  can  be  compared,  and  yet,  in  view  of  all  this,  it  is  the  most 
important  of  all  human  institutions. 

COLLECTIVE  ACHIEVEMENT 

It  has  been  said  that  the  state  achieves  little.  It  would  have  been 
better  to  say  that  society  in  its  collective  capacity  does  not  take  a 
direct  part  in  the  operations  that  have  been  described  under  the 
head  of  achievement.  The  greater  part  of  these  belong  to  the  gen- 
eral movement  that  has  resulted  in  the  conquest  of  nature.  This,  as 
we  saw,  consists  chiefly  in  the  mastery  of  the  physical  forces  through 
invention  and  scientific  discovery.  This  was  preeminently  the  work 
of  the  individual.  In  contradistinction  to  this,  the  achievements  of 

i  "Tho  Social  Organism,"  by  Herbert  Spencer,  Westminster  Review,  New  Series, 
Vol.  XVIII,  Jan.  1,  1860,  pp.  92-93.  "  Essays,  Scientific,  Political,  and  Specula- 
tive," New  York,  1891,  pp.  267-2(58. 


556  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

society,  if  we  can  call  them  so,  have  related  to  a  certain  conquest  of 
man.  This  has  consisted  in  gaining  a  greater  and  greater  mastery 
of  the  social  forces,  primarily  of  the  antisocial  effects  of  the  social 
forces  in  the  interest  of  social  safety.  It  has  been  maintained  from 
the  first  that  man  is  not  by  nature  a  social  being  in  the  full  sense 
of  that  expression.  He  was  from  the  beginning  and  has  always 
remained  an  exceedingly  quarrelsome  and  willful  animal.  It  has 
been  noted  that  predaceous  animals  are  not  usually  gregarious.  Man 
early  became  carnivorous,  or  rather  omnivorous,  and  cannibalism  is 
one  of  the  phases  through  which  he  has  everywhere  passed.  If  this 
was  chiefly  confined  to  the  eating  of  enemies  it  was  because  the 
blood  bond  and  other  social  influences  partially  protected  his  imme- 
diate kin.  The  enslavement  of  the  captured,  which  gradually  suc- 
ceeded and  ultimately  supplanted  cannibalism,  was  a  matter  of 
policy  and  the  rational  calculation  of  the  greatest  gain.  Exploita- 
tion, as  depicted  in  Chapter  XIII,  worked  no  diminution  in  the 
predatory  and  ferocious  nature  of  man.  His  whole  career  has  been 
marked  by  belligerency,  internecine  strife,  and  universal  rapacity. 
The  slow  growth  of  sympathy  and  the  moral  sentiments  somewhat 
mitigated  this,  but  less  than  is  commonly  supposed,  and  but  for  the 
beneficent  power  of  the  state,  seen  by  all  to  be  in  their  interest, 
society  would  have  been  impossible.  Wherever  this  is  even  tem- 
porarily and  locally  withdrawn  a  state  of  things  invariably  results 
which  is  not  only  intolerable  but  utterly  incompatible  with  any  form 
of  human  achievement.  It  is  well  known  that  the  state  was  very 
slow  in  taking  the  punishment  of  crime  out  of  the  hands  of  private 
individuals,  and  the  great  prevalence  of  family  feuds  under  those 
conditions  is  well  described  by  Mr.  Billson.  He  says :  — 

The  large  place  occupied  by  blood-feuds  in  ancient  Semitic  societies  and 
the  .dark  shadow  which  they  cast  over  social  life  have  been  vividly  portrayed 
by  Michaelis  in  his  work  on  the  Mosaic  laws.  The  notoriously  blightful 
prevalence  of  such  feuds  among  the  American  Indians  is  such  as  to  prepare 
us  for  Schoolcraft's  account  of  a  tribe  to  the  south  of  Lake  Superior,  which 
he  found  almost  extinct  through  intestine  feuds.  Indeed,  such  instances  are 
by  no  means  uncommon.  A  passage  in  which  Mr.  Bellew  describes  the 
condition  of  the  feud-ridden  Berdurani,  or  northeastern  Afghan  tribes,  so 
forcibly  illustrates  the  demoralization  ensuing  from  feuds  as  to  justify  its 
quotation  at  length :  "  Indeed,"  he  says,  "  the  quarrelsome  character  of  this 
people  and  the  constant  strife  that  they  lead  are  declared  by  a  mere  glance  at 
their  villages  and  fields,  which  bristle  in  all  directions  with  round  towers. 


CH.  xx]  COLLECTIVE   ACHIEVEMENT  557 

These  are  constantly  occupied  by  men  at  enmity  with  their  neighbors  in  the 
same  or  adjoining  villages,  who,  perched  up  in  their  little  shooting-boxes, 
watch  the  opportunity  of  putting  a  bullet  into  each  other's  body  with  the 
most  persevering  patience.  The  fields,  even,  are  studded  with  these  round 
towers,  and  the  men  holding  them  most  jealously  guard  their  lands  from 
any  one  with  whom  they  are  at  feud.  Nothing  belonging  to  their  enemies 
is  safe  from  their  vengeance.  If  even  a  fowl  strays  from  its  owner  into  the 
grounds  of  another,  it  is  sure  to  receive  a  bullet  from  the  adversary's  tower. 
So  constant  are  their  feuds  that  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  village  chil- 
dren are  taught  never  to  walk  in  the  center  of  the  road,  but  always  from  the 
force  of  early  habit  walk  stealthily  along  under  cover  of  the  wall  nearest  to 
any  tower."  These,  it  must  be  conceded,  are  extreme  cases  ;  yet  they  are  a 
perfectly  logical  outgrowth  of  unaided  and  unhampered  private  retaliation.1 

They  are  extreme  cases  only  because  in  one  form  or  another 
society  has  taken  steps  to  prevent  this  state  of  things.  But  for 
collective  action  in  some  form  this  would  be  the  normal  condition 
of  human  society,  or  rather  of  the  human  animal,  for  there  could 
be  no  society.  In  other  cases  where  collective  regulation  is  weak 
and  ineffective  we  have  a  general  state  of  brigandage.  Such  has 
been  the  condition  of  Southern  Europe  during  long  periods,  and 
such,  as  it  seems,  is  still  the  condition  of  parts  of  it,  as  witness  the 
recent  abduction  of  Miss  Stone,  and  the  powerlessness  or  indifference 
of  the  states  in  which  it  took  place  to  secure  the  brigands  or  sup- 
press the  practice.  On  the  frontier  of  a  new  country  in  process 
of  settlement  the  form  that  this  same  fact  assumes  is  the  pres- 
ence of  lawless  desperadoes  traveling  from  place  to  place  to  rob 
and  murder  innocent  settlers. 

It  was  with  such  conditions  as  these  that  society  had  primarily 
to  grapple,  and  no  one  can  say  that  it  has  not  upon  the  whole 
successfully  accomplished  its  task.  From  the  standpoint  of 
achievement  such  action  is  to  be  compared  to  all  that  part  of  the 
conquest  of  nature  which  relates  to  the  mastery  of  hostile  forces. 
The  averting  of  evil  naturally  precedes  the  extracting  of  good 
from  the  raw  elements  of  nature,  and  we  do  not  deny  to  the  inven- 
tion of  clothing  and  shelter  the  title  to  be  called  achievements  while 
awarding  that  title  to  the  invention  of  a  mortar  for  grinding  corn. 
Society  has  always  been  rent  by  conflicting  interests,  and  the 
great  problem  that  presented  itself  to  collectivity  was  that,  not 
of  harmonizing,  but  of  reconciling  such  conflicting  interests.  The 

1  "  The  Origin  of  Criminal  Law,"  by  William  W.  Billson,  Popular  Science 
Monthly,  Vol.  XVI,  February,  1880,  p.  438. 


558  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

means  were  law  and  the  state,  and  the  result  was  the  substitu- 
tion of  civil  justice  for  natural  justice.  Society  exists  because 
the  rational  mind  was  capable  of  perceiving  the  mutual  advan- 
tageousness  of  submitting  to  authority.  The  process  is  one  of 
adaptation,  and  law,  state,  society,  and  civilization  are  products  of 
creative  synthesis  as  this  was  defined  in  Chapter  V. 

Growth  of  Collectivism.  —  The  domain  of  purely  social  action  was 
at  first  very  limited.  As  all  know,  the  punishment  of  crime 
against  individuals  was  not  made  a  duty  of  society  until  after 
the  fall  of  the  feudal  regime.  The  only  crimes  considered  by 
the  state  were  crimes  against  the  state.  But  this  is  by  no  means 
the  only  function  now  considered  necessarily  collective  that  was 
once  not  so  considered.  Revenues  were  extensively  farmed  out 
to  private  parties  and  the  finances  of  nations  were  largely  in  the 
hands  of  individual  financiers.  As  the  growth  of  collectivism  has 
been  nearly  the  same  in  all  the  countries  of  Europe  it  is  as  well 
illustrated  by  England  as  by  any  other  country.  Mr.  Sidney 
Webb  has  given  clear  expression  to  the  general  facts  in  that 
country.  He  says  :  — 

Representative  government  has  taught  the  people  how  to  gain  collectively 
that  power  which  they  could  never  again  individually  possess.  The  present 
century  has  accordingly  witnessed  a  growing  demand  for  the  legal  regulation 
of  the  conditions  of  industry  which  represents  a  marked  advance  on  pre- 
vious conceptions  of  the  sphere  of  legislation.  It  has  also  seen  a  progress  in 
the  public  management  of  industrial  undertakings  which  represents  an  equal 
advance  in  the  field  of  government  administration.  Such  an  extension  of 
collective  action  is,  it  may  safely  be  asserted,  an  inevitable  result  of  political 
democracy.  When  the  Commons  of  England  had  secured  the  right  to  vote 
supplies,  it  must  have  seemed  an  unwarrantable  extension  that  they  should 
claim  also  to  redress  grievances.  When  they  passed  from  legislation  to  the 
exercise  of  control  over  the  executive,  the  constitutional  jurists  were  aghast 
at  the  presumption.  The  attempt  of  Parliament  to  seize  the  command  of 
the  military  forces  led  to  a  civil  war.  Its  control  over  foreign  policy  is 
scarcely  two  hundred  years  old.  Every  one  of  these  developments  of  the 
collective  authority  of  the  nation  over  the  conditions  of  its  own  life  was 
denounced  as  an  illegitimate  usurpation  foredoomed  to  failure.  Every  one 
of  them  is  still  being  resisted  in  countries  less  advanced  in  political 
development.  .  .  . 

The  captains  of  war  have  been  reduced  to  the  position  of  salaried  officers 
acting  for  public  ends  under  public  control;  and  the  art  of  war  has  not 
decayed.  In  a  similar  way  the  captains  of  industry  are  gradually  being  de- 
posed from  their  independent  commands,  and  turned  into  salaried  servants 


CH.XX]  GROWTH   OF   COLLECTIVISM  559 

of  the  public.  Nearly  all  the  railways  of  the  world,  outside  of  America  and 
the  United  Kingdom,  are  managed  in  this  way.  The  Belgian  Government 
works  its  own  line  of  passenger  steamers.  The  Paris  Municipal  Council 
opens  public  bakeries.  The  Glasgow  Town  Council  runs  its  own  common 
lodging  houses,  Plymouth  its  own  tramways.  Everywhere,  schools,  water- 
works, gas-works,  dwellings  for  the  people,  and  many  other  forms  of  capi- 
tal, are  passing  from  individual  into  collective  control.  And  there  is  no 
contrary  movement.  No  community  which  has  once  "  municipalized  "  any 
public  service  ever  retraces  its  steps  or  reverses  its  action.1 

We  are  here  considering  only  the  facts  and  the  drift.  Mr.  Webb 
is  of  course  an  interested  witness,  but  that  he  has  not  exaggerated 
the  facts  may  be  learned  from  another  witness  whose  bias  in  the 
opposite  direction  is  much  more  strong,  viz.,  Herbert  Spencer.  In 
one  of  the  articles  that  have  already  been  mentioned,  entitled,  "  The 
Coming  Slavery,"  he  thus  deplores  the  tendencies  of  the  times :  — 

Then,  again,  comes  State-ownership  of  railways.  Already  this  exists  to  a 
large  extent  on  the  Continent.  Already  we  have  had  here  a  few  years  ago 
loud  advocacy  of  it.  And  now  the  cry,  which  was  raised  by  sundry  politi- 
cians and  publicists,  is  taken  up  afresh  by  the  Democratic  Federation  ;  which 
proposes  "  State-appropriation  of  railways,  with  or  without  compensation." 
Evidently  pressure  from  above  joined  by  pressure  from  below,  is  likely  to 
effect  this  change  dictated  by  the  policy  everywhere  spreading ;  and  with  it 
must  come  many  attendant  changes.  For  railway-proprietors,  at  first  owners 
and  workers  of  railways  only,  have  become  masters  of  numerous  businesses 
directly  or  indirectly  connected  with  railways ;  and  these  will  have  to  be 
purchased  by  Government  when  the  railways  are  purchased.  Already  ex- 
clusive letter-carrier,  exclusive  transmitter  of  telegrams,  and  on  the  way  to 
become  exclusive  carrier  of  parcels,  the  State  will  not  only  be  exclusive  car- 
rier of  passengers,  goods,  and  minerals,  but  will  add  to  its  present  various 
trades  many  other  trades.  Even  now,  besides  erecting  its  naval  and  military 
establishments  and  building  harbors,  docks,  breakwaters,  etc.,  it  does  the 
work  of  ship-builder,  cannon-founder,  small-arms  maker,  manufacturer  of 
ammunition,  army-clothier  and  boot-maker;  and  when  the  railways  have 
been  appropriated,  "with  or  without  compensation,"  as  the  Democratic 
Federationists  say,  it  will  have  to  become  locomotive-engine-builder,  car- 
riage-maker, tarpaulin  and  grease  manufacturer,  passenger-vessel  owner, 
coal-miner,  stone-quarrier,  omnibus  proprietor,  etc.  Meanwhile  its  local 
lieutenants,  the  municipal  governments,  already  in  many  places  suppliers  of 
water,  gas-makers,  owners  and  workers  of  tramways,  proprietors  of  baths, 
will  doubtless  have  undertaken  various  other  businesses.  And  when  the 
State,  directly  or  by  proxy,  has  thus  come  into  possession  of,  or  has  estab- 
lished, numerous  concerns  for  wholesale  production  and  for  wholesale  distri- 
bution, there  will  be  good  precedents  for  extending  its  function  to  retail 

*  "  Fabian  Tract,"  No.  69,  London,  1896,  pp.  14^15. 


560  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

distribution :  following  such  an  example,  say,  as  is  offered  by  the  French 
Government,  which  has  long  been  a  retail  tobacconist. 

In  other  places  Mr.  Spencer  has  turned  aside  from  his  philosophi- 
cal writings  to  compile  lists  of  these  so-called  socialistic  laws  for  the 
purpose  of  condemning  them,  and  when  he  finds  that  a  considerable 
number  of  them  have  been  repealed,  as  not  accomplishing  the  pur- 
pose for  which  they  were  enacted,  he  seems  to  suppose  that  he  has 
found  an  unanswerable  argument  against  all  measures  looking  to  the 
enlargement  of  state  functions.  The  socialists  themselves  have  also 
carefully  worked  out  the  history  of  this  movement,  and  there  have 
been  a  few  entirely  judicial  historians  of  it.  Of  these  latter  Mr. 
Lecky  is  perhaps  the  most  conspicuous,  and  in  several  of  his  works, 
particularly  his  "  Democracy  and  Liberty  "  and  his  "  Map  of  Life, 
Conduct,  and  Character,"  he  has  endeavored  to  give  an  impartial 
summary  of  the  growth  of  collectivism.  Of  the  former  of  these 
works  Professor  Giddings  says  :  — 

Even  the  hardened  reader  of  individualistic  tracts  will  experience  a  new 
sensation  as  he  turns  Mr.  Lecky's  pages  and  follows  through  one  continuous 
narrative  the  astonishing  story  of  modern  legislation  against  gambling, 
liquor-selling,  cigarette-smoking  and  other  modes  of  vice,  and  of  the  yet 
more  elaborate  legislation  in  behalf  of  "  labor,"  consisting  of  laws  limiting 
the  hours  of  employment,  regulating  the  internal  affairs  of  the  factory  and 
the  workshop,  fixing  the  times  and  modes  of  wage  payments,  prescribing  the 
details  of  tenement-house  construction  and  management,  forbidding  the 
competitive  employment  of  convict  labor  by  the  state,  and  even  fixing  a 
minimum  wage  for  municipal  laborers.1 

In  the  later  work  mentioned,  while  sounding  a  warning  voice 
against  the  fact  that  the  English  race  are  "  contentedly  submitting 
great  departments  of  their  lives  to  a  web  of  regulations  restricting 
and  encircling  them,"  Mr.  Lecky  nevertheless  says  that  "the  tri- 
umphs of  sanitary  reform  as  well  as  of  medical  science  are  perhaps 
the  brightest  page  in  the  history  of  our  century." 2 

Not  less  impartial  and  judicial  in  his  views  is  Mr.  James  Bryce, 
and  in  grappling  squarely  with  the  doctrine  of  laissez  faire  he 
says : — 

Modern  civilization  in  becoming  more  complex  and  refined  has  become 
more  exacting.  It  discovers  more  benefits  which  the  organized  power  of 

1  Political  Science  Quarterly,  Vol.  XI,  December,  1896,  p.  724. 

2  "  The  Map  of  Life,  Conduct,  and  Character,"  by  William  Hartpole  Lecky, 
New  York,  1899,  pp.  14-15. 


CH.  xx]  GROWTH   OF   COLLECTIVISM  561 

government  can  secure,  and  grows  more  anxious  to  attain  them.  Men  live 
fast,  and  are  impatient  of  the  slow  working  of  natural  laws.  The  triumphs 
of  physical  science  have  enlarged  their  desires  for  comfort,  and  shown  them 
how  many  things  may  be  accomplished  by  the  application  of  collective  skill 
and  large  funds  which  are  beyond  the  reach  of  individual  effort.1 

Ever  and  anon  the  steady  march  of  collectivism  receives  a  tem- 
porary check.  In  1900  Parliament  appointed  a  joint  committee  of 
both  Houses  to  investigate  it,  of  which  the  Earl  of  Crewe  was  chair- 
man and  Lord  Avebury  a  member.  The  latter  drew  up  a  serious 
challenge  which  he  published  in  the  Contemporary  Review  for  July 
of  that  year  under  the  title  of  "Municipal  Trading."  His  argu- 
ments need  not  be  considered  here,  and  upon  the  whole  the  effect 
of  the  investigation  has  been  wholesome,  since  there  is  always  the 
possibility  that  such  a  movement  will  go  too  far  and  bring  on  a 
reaction.  The  real  advance  can  only  take  place  as  fast  as  it  is  ad- 
vantageous, and  any  step  that  works  more  hardship  than  it  relieves 
will  be  and  should  be  prevented. 

It  is  generally  believed  that  collectivism  is  more  pronounced  on 
the  Continent  than  it  is  in  England,  and  in  certain  respects  this  is 
true,  particularly  with  regard  to  railroads,  but  there  seems  to  have 
been  a  greater  amount  of  factory  and  other  forms  of  moral  legislation 
in  England.  In  the  United  States  there  is  no  settled  principle,  and 
it  is  a  question  of  majorities  and  political  influence.  But  the  less 
favored  classes  are  beginning  to  learn  the  power  of  their  ballots  and 
are  casting  them  in  increasing  numbers  for  collectivism.  But  the 
country  which  has  taken  the  longest  strides  in  this  direction  is 
Australia,  for  it  seems  to  be  true  of  all  the  colonies,  but  is  more 
marked  in  some  than  in  others.  New  Zealand  leads,  but  South 
Australia  is  not  far  behind.  Mr.  Henry  D.  Lloyd  has  fully  de- 
scribed the  movement  in  New  Zealand.2  It  is  difficult  to  find 
entirely  disinterested  accounts  of  this  movement  in  those  once  far- 
off  countries,  but  the  following  extracts  from  the  remarks  of  Dr. 
John  A.  Cockburn,  Agent  General  of  South  Australia,  made  at  the 
meeting  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science 
on  Oct.  25,  1899,  on  "The  Extension  of  the  Sphere  of  State 

1  "The  American  Commonwealth,"  hy  James  Bryce,  in  two  volumes,  London  and 
New  York,  1888,  Vol.  II,  p.  407. 

2  "  Newest  England.     Notes  of  a  Democratic  Traveller  in  New  Zealand,  with 
some  Australian  Comparisons,"  by  Henry  Demarest  Lloyd,  New  York,  1900.    See 
also  Fabian  Tract,  No.  74,  London,  1896. 

2o 


562  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

Activity  in  South  Australia,"  show  that  the  people  of  that  colony 
are  acting  wholly  in  their  own  interests  and  not  from  the  influence 
of  theory.  He  said  :  — 

I  believe  the  majority  of  our  people  oppose  the  extension  of  the  sphere  of 
state  activity,  but  when  practical  men  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
actual  necessities  in  relation  to  the  settlement  of  a  new  country,  they  throw 
their  theory  to  the  winds  and  grapple  with  the  actual  requirements  of  the 
case,  for  dogma  rigidly  adhered  to  is  an  inveterate  foe  to  progress.  .  .  . 
There  has  been  one  railway  in  private  hands  in  South  Australia,  but  that 
within  the  last  few  months  has  been  purchased  by  the  state.  We  find  that 
the  railways  are  nowadays  what  the  main  roads  were  in  the  past.  We  find 
it  to  the  interest  of  the  community  to  work  the  railways,  and  in  connection 
with  working  the  railways,  of  course  there  are  supplementary  avenues  of 
activity  which  have  to  be  introduced.  We  have  of  course  extensive  work- 
shops in  connection  with  the  railways.  In  these  workshops  we  manufac- 
ture all  our  own  locomotives.  Whether  we  shall  always  continue  to 
manufacture  our  own  locomotives  remains  to  be  seen.  Of  course  we  want 
above  all  things  to  choose  the  method  attended  with  the  best  practical  re- 
sults. We  have  recently  made  a  batch  of  locomotives  in  the  state  workshops 
with  a  view  to  ascertaining  whether  the  economy  of  production  and  the 
efficiency  of  the  best  service  is  in  the  hands  of  the  state  or  in  the  hands  of 
private  individuals.  Then,  of  course,  the  state  is  with  us  an  express  com- 
pany which  delivers  parcels.  We  do  not  wait  for  manufacturers,  as  is  the 
case  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  yet  one  of  the  drawbacks  in  state  enterprise 
is  this,  that  every  citizen  has  a  right  to  know  about  government  business, 
and  if  they  are  not  served  by  the  state  in  what  they  consider  the  best  pos- 
sible manner  they  are  apt  to  ask  some  very  awkward  questions  of  the  ad- 
ministration. Therefore,  the  functions  of  the  state  with  us  have  been 
undertaken  with  the  greatest  possible  solicitude  for  the  approval  of  the 
people. 

We  have  undertaken  government  workshops  and  manufacture  all  our 
own  water  pipes.  In  a  dry  country  like  Australia  the  water  supply  and 
irrigation  are  very  important  items.  A  very  high  grade  of  pipes  is  required. 
We  have  manufactured  these  for  ourselves.  Then,  of  course,  the  state  owns 
all  telegraphs  and  telephones,  and  in  connection  with  the  post-office  we  have 
a  parcels  post,  which  was  introduced  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  ago,  and 
which  has  worked  exceedingly  well  with  us.  The  water-works  are  also 
owned  by  the  state.  The  government  also  acts  as  public  trustee,  and  we  are 
very  proud  of  our  public  trustee's  department.  It  has  been  of  benefit  in 
many  ways.  Any  one  who  wishes  to  leave  his  estate  in  unimpeachable 
hands  has  only  to  appoint  the  public  trustee  to  take  charge  of  it.  Most  of 
our  hospitals  and  most  of  our  charitable  institutions  are  also  state  organiza- 
tions and  under  state  control. 

It  is  chiefly  in  our  agriculture  that  the  sphere  of  state  activity  has  been 
developed.  The  success  of  the  community  and  our  national  welfare  depend 
on  the  prosperity  of  the  farmer,  and,  therefore,  we  adapt  our  institutions 


CH.  xx]  GROWTH   OF  COLLECTIVISM  563 

to  make  his  occupation  as  profitable  as  possible.  If  the  farmer  does  well 
the  whole  community  is  prosperous,  the  doctor  gets  his  fees,  the  pastor  gets 
his  stipend  raised,  and  everybody  shares  in  the  general  prosperity.  So  the 
farmer  is,  as  it  were,  that  part  of  the  community  whose  welfare  we  watch 
with  the  greatest  possible  interest.  The  state,  in  order  to  enable  the  farmer 
to  get  the  greatest  possible  return  for  his  labor,  inaugurated  what  is  known 
as  the  Government  Produce  Export  Depot.  We  have  also  established  a 
receiving  depot.  We  take  from  the  farmer  and  from  the  fruit  grower  his 
produce  and  send  it  to  the  world's  markets.  Before  the  state  moved  in  this 
direction  the  small  farmer  or  fruit  grower  was  practically  unable  to  reach 
the  markets  of  the  world,  even  though  there  was  a  great  demand  for  his 
produce,  by  reason  of  the  high  rates  for  freights  and  insurance,  which  would 
be  so  high  on  small  parcels  that  practically  they  were  excluded.  So  the 
state  stepped  in,  and  by  grouping  together  the  little  rivulets  of  produce  into 
one  shipment,  sends  them  forward  at  the  lowest  possible  charges  for  neces- 
sary expenses  of  transit.  The  state  in  this  way  has  been  able  to  bring  the 
world's  markets  within  the  reach  of  the  farmer  and  fruit  grower. 

The  state  in  undertaking  this  function  is  able  to  insist  upon  a  certain 
grade  of  quality.  There  is  nothing  more  dangerous  or  more  ruinous  to 
those  who  send  produce  to  a  market  than  to  have  good  produce  accompanied 
by  articles  of  inferior  quality.  The  presence  of  articles  of  inferior  quality 
deteriorates  the  value  of  the  whole  shipment.  If  articles  are  inferior  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.  No  produce  is  sent  unless  it  receives  the  govern- 
ment's stamp  of  approval.  After  the  goods  have  been  received  and  forwarded 
by  the  state,  they  are  received  in  London  by  the  receiving  depot  there.  The 
government  does  not  undertake  their  sale,  but  it  selects  corn  and  cotton 
brokers  and  auctioneers  of  recognized  ability,  who  can  be  depended  upon  to 
make  the  best  possible  terms  for  the  consignor  and  for  the  seller  of  the 
produce.  Now,  in  South  Australia,  all  the  farmer  has  to  do  when  he  wishes 
to  send  a  box  of  butter,  honey,  or  some  sheep  abroad,  is  to  write  to  the 
Agricultural  Department,  and  if  they  are  approved  and  forwarded  the  con- 
signor has  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  sit  at  home  and  await  returns  by 
check.  .  .  . 

The  government  in  South  Australians  the  land  owner.  The  lands  belong 
to  the  state.  We  have  lately  held  that  it  is  much  better  for  the  state  to 
lease  than  to  sell  land.  We  are  now  instituting  a  form  of  perpetual  lease. 
The  state  purchases  lands  for  the  purpose  of  placing  farmers  upon  them. 
The  Department  of  Agriculture  also  issues  a  journal,  which  is  called  the 
Journal  of  Agriculture  and  Industry.  This  journal  is  now  recognized  as  a 
very  valuable  guide  and  assistance  to  all  farmers  and  has  a  considerable 
circulation. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  government  could  stand  by  and  witness  a  num- 
ber of  men  out  of  employment,  idly  standing  all  day  in  the  market  places 
because  no  man  will  hire  them,  with  hungry  wives  and  children  ;  so  we 
take  the  idle  men  and  place  them  upon  the  idle  lands  and  assist  them  in 
every  way  to  make  a  settlement.  We  make  advances  to  them,  and  it  is 
rather  an  interesting  experiment  from  the  point  of  view  of  cooperative 


564  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

settlements.  They  hold  their  lands  in  common.  The  settlements  have 
turned  out  very  well.  Idle  hands  are  idle  no  longer,  but  are  able  to  support 
families. 

Of  course  no  farmer  can  pay  a  high  rate  of  interest,  so  we  have  estab- 
lished a  state  bank,  which  lends  money  to  the  farmer  at  4  per  cent  interest, 
whereas  previously  he  had  to  pay  as  high  as  8,  9,  10,  25,  sometimes  50,  and 
even  70  per  cent  interest.  We  consider  that  the  farmer  should  be  able  to 
get  the  money  required  for  making  improvements  and  purchasing  machin- 
ery, and  that  he  should  be  placed  in  a  position  in  which  he  can  keep  his 
farm  in  good  condition ;  so  we  have  instituted  this  state  bank,  which  is 
managed  by  a  board  of  trustees,  who  are  not  responsible  to  the  government, 
who  cannot  be  removed  from  office  except  by  very  difficult  steps,  and  who, 
therefore,  act  independently,  and  who  are  to  carry  on  the  bank  for  strict 
commercial  interests.  Many  farmers  are  prospering  to-day  in  consequence 
of  this  accommodation.  The  bank  has  been  effective  in  reducing  the  rate 
of  interest  on  mortgages  and  private  loans. 

In  undertaking  these  various  functions  the  state  has  been  anxious  not  in 
any  way  to  sap  private  enterprise,  on  which  the  prosperity  of  the  commu- 
nity depends.  The  state  has  never  been  accused  of  interfering  in  private 
interests.  We  have  always  endeavored  to  place  our  toilers  in  a  position  in 
which  they  can  get  the  best  possible  reward  for  their  labors.  If  you  bring 
hope  into  the  life  of  the  farmer,  and  make  him  sure  of  his  reward,  that  his 
profits  will  not  be  taken  away  from  him,  then  you  make  him  more  efficient. 
Instead  of  sapping  private  enterprise  we  are  assisting  private  enterprise. 
We  are  not  anxious  to  organize  patriarchal  institutions  but  fraternal  ones, 
wherein  men  shall  be  banded  together  for  mutual  benefit  and  by  coopera- 
tion become  a  brotherhood  through  the  help  of  each  man  in  his  own  par- 
ticular way,  following  his  own  knowledge  in  the  best  possible  way  and 
receiving  aid  and  guidance  from  the  state." l 

I  have  introduced  so  large  a  part  of  Dr.  Cockburn's  remarks  not 
because  they  are  at  all  striking  or  startling,  but  because  they  consti- 
tute a  plain,  unbiased  statement  of  the  condition  of  things  in  South 
Australia,  not  intended  to  defend  or  advocate  the  policy  pursued, 
but  simply  to  set  it  forth  as  it  is.  New  Zealand  would  show  a  still 
longer  step  in  the  same  direction,  and  all  the  Australian  colonies  are 
moving  along  the  same  line  of  the  extension  of  state  functions. 

Now  this  universal  growth  of  collectivism  pari  passu  with  the 
growth  of  intelligence  is  simply  the  natural  and  normal  integration 
of  functions  with  the  development  of  social  structure.  The  biological 
analogy  at  least  holds  to  that  extent.  The  only  instructive  analogies 
are  those  that  relate  to  the  coordination  of  functions.  The  state  may 

1  Bulletin  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social  Science,  New  Series, 
No.  10.,  Philadelphia,  Nov.  14,  1899;  Publications  of  the  Academy,  No.  264,  pp. 
7-10. 


CH.  xx]  GROWTH  OF  COLLECTIVISM  565 

be  fairly  regarded  as  the  homologue  of  the  brain.  The  brain  repre- 
sents an  almost  absolute  central  control  of  the  bodily  functions,  at  least 
of  its  conscious  ones.  Organic  progress  has  consisted  in  the  steady 
increase  of  this  control,  of  the  gradual  transfer  of  unconscious  func- 
tions to  the  list  of  conscious  ones,  until  in  all  the  higher  animals  the 
cerebral  hegemony  is  complete.  Society  stands  at  a  much  lower 
stage  in  this  process  of  development,  viz.,  at  that  represented  by 
certain  animals  considered  very  low  in  the  scale ;  but  the  first  forms 
of  headship  represent  the  earliest  steps  in  the  development  of 
a  ganglionic  center,  while  the  full-fledged  state  represents  the  brain 
of  animals  of  a  somewhat  higher  type.  But  the  most  complete  func- 
tional integration  thus  far  attained,  as,  for  example,  that  of  New 
Zealand  or  Switzerland,  still  falls  far  short  of  the  degree  of  integra- 
tion of  the  nervous  system  of  the  lowest  vertebrates.  It  is  surpris- 
ing that  Herbert  Spencer,  who  of  all  social  philosophers  has  most 
fully  and  ably  pointed  out  these  analogies,  and  who  is  practically 
the  discoverer  of  the  law  of  simultaneous  differentiation  and  integra- 
tion in  the  organic  world,  should  fail  to  see  that  the  same  law  holds 
in  society.  He  indeed  admits  the  process  of  differentiation,  but 
virtually  denies  that  of  integration.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  cor- 
rect to  say  that  he  regards  social  differentiation  as  the  true  analogue 
of  organic  differentiation,  and  as  something  perfectly  natural,  normal, 
and  proper,  while  looking  upon  social  integration  in  this  sense  as 
something  artificial,  pathological,  and  improper ;  something  to  be 
deplored,  combated,  and  antagonized  to  the  utmost. 

If  the  analogy  were,  indeed,  exact,  and  if  we  had  to  look  forward 
to  a  future  state  of  social  integration  as  complete  as  the  organic 
integration  of  the  highest  mammals  including  man,  we  might  take 
the  alarm  and  either  dread  the  consequences  or  console  ourselves 
with  the  reflection  that  we  as  individuals  will  never  be  permitted  to 
witness  it.  But  aside  from  the  folly  of  borrowing  trouble  from  such 
a  remote  future,  there  is  really  no  cause  for  alarm  even  for  our  de- 
scendants. Spencer  has  well  pointed  out  the  fundamental  defect  in 
the  analogy,  viz.,  that  whereas  in  the  organism  it  is  the  whole  that 
is  conscious  and  sentient  while  the  parts  are  unconscious  and  insen- 
tient, in  society  it  is  the  parts  that  are  conscious  and  sentient  while 
the  whole  is  unconscious  and  insentient.  This  antithesis  reverses 
the  whole  process  and  makes  social  development  consist  in  steps 
looking  to  the  benefit  of  the  parts,  whereas  organic  development  con- 


566  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

sists  in  steps  looking  to  the  benefit  of  the  whole.  Development 
everywhere  and  necessarily  results  from  pressure  toward  an  advan- 
tageous end,  and  it  cannot  be  conceived  as  moving  toward  a  disad- 
vantageous end.  We  have  already  seen  that  the  legitimate  effect  of 
the  state  is  to  set  the  individual  free,  and  every  step  through  which 
we  have  traced  the  growth  of  collectivism  has  been  in  the  direction 
of  the  greater  and  greater  liberation  of  the  individual  from  all  the 
powers  of  nature  that,  left  to  themselves,  tend  to  enchain  him.  In 
the  organic  process  development  may  be  metaphorically  said  to  be 
in  the  direction  of  enslaving  the  parts,  i.e.,  of  subordinating  them  to 
the  whole  for  the  good  of  the  whole.  This  works  no  hardship,  for 
what  matter  if  the  unconscious  organs,  vessels,  tissues,  and  cells  are 
enslaved  ?  But  in  the  social  process  the  result  is  the  reverse  of 
this.  The  parts  (individuals)  that  were  primarily  enslaved  are  now 
set  free,  and  every  step  is  in  the  direction  of  greater  freedom  in  the 
exercise  of  all  their  faculties. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  growth  of  collectivism  here  sketched 
has  been  from  the  first  a  struggle  with  the  forces  of  individualism 
which  was  supreme  at  the  outset,  and  a  gradual  conquest  of  this 
field,  much  as  the  individual  mind  has  conquered  the  field  of  physi- 
cal nature,  where  the  primitive  forces  were  originally  acting  each 
for  itself  the  same  as  the  unrestrained  social  forces.  It  must  not 
therefore  be  confounded  with  the  various  forms  of  communism  that 
prevail  in  undeveloped  societies,  such  as  the  village  communities 
described  by  Sir  Henry  Sumner  Maine  and  the  North,  American 
tribes  portrayed  by  Mr  Lewis  H.  Morgan.  Individualists,  in  re- 
sisting this  movement,  are  fond  of  insisting  that  instead  of  social 
progress  it  represents  a  retrograde  process  toward  the  stage  of  primi- 
tive communism.  This  is  the  same  argument  used  by  royalists  and 
monarchists  against  modern  democracy,  who  used  to  predict  the 
certain  fall  of  the  latter  similar  to  the  fall  of  the  Greek  and  Koman 
republics.  This  latter  argument  has  no  force  now  because  everybody 
knows  that  between  modern  democracies,  which  include  the  mon- 
archies as  well  as  the  republics  by  name,  and  the  ancient  republics 
no  comparison  is  possible  and  no  essential  resemblance  exists.  And 
yet  they  are  quite  as  much  alike  as  are  the  collective  systems  of  the 
present  and  communal  life  of  savage  and  barbaric  tribes.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  latter  grew  out  of  the  impossibility  at  that  stage  of 
social  development  of  maintaining  social  existence  on  the  individual- 


CH.  xx]  GROWTH  OF  COLLECTIVISM  567 

istic  plan,  and  signify  the  triumph  of  the  group  sense  of  self- 
preservation.  This  brought  into  action  the  Gossenian l  law,  which, 
under  such  simple  social  conditions  was  easily  made  to  prevail  over 
the  Jevonian2  law,  which  had  scarcely  as  yet  taken  an  economic 
form,  and  was  little  more  than  the  biologic  law  of  struggle  for 
existence  working  the  destruction  of  the  group  and  the  restriction 
of  the  species  to  a  circumscribed  habitat. 

This  Jevonian  law  came  into  full  force  as  an  economic  and  socio- 
logical principle  with  the  stage  of  conquest  and  race  amalgamation, 
the  sharp  scission  of  society  into  classes  or  castes,  the  partition  of 
the  lands  to  influential  individuals,  and  the  establishment  of  lati- 
fundia  and  all  other  forms  of  private  property.  It  was  under  this 
system  that  all  the  important  arts,  industries,  and  commercial  enter- 
prises arose.  A  strictly  business  class  was  formed  out  of  the  meso- 
derm  of  the  metasocial  tissues,  and  under  the  joint  action  of  all  these 
social  classes  the  development  sketched  in  the  last  chapter  took 
place.  The  formation  of  the  state  supported  by  general  laws  was 
the  first  step  taken  by  the  collective  mind.  It  checked  rapacity  but 
furthered  activity.  If  the  Gossenian  law  governed  the  collective 
movement  (and  this  is  for  the  sociological  mathematicians  to  deter- 
mine) the  Jevonian  law  certainly  continued  to  govern  the  thus 
liberated  individual  activities.  It  has  never  ceased  to  do  so  even  in 
countries  farthest  advanced  in  collectivism.  The  freer  the  individ- 
ual activity  the  more  fully  will  this  law  act,  and  the  whole  move- 
ment may  almost  be  described  as  the  growth  of  individualism. 
Collectivism  is  not  therefore  the  opposite  of  individualism.  It  is 
the  failure  to  see  this  that  makes  English  collectivism,  and  Anglo- 
Saxon  collectivism  in  general,  such  a  paradox.  That  it  should  prove 
that  the  great  Anglo-Saxon  race,  the  embodiment  of  the  principle  of 
free  individual  initiative,  has  made  the  longest  strides  in  the  direc- 
tion of  social  initiative  and  social  achievement  is  the  marvel  of  those 
who  ascribe  Anglo-Saxon  supremacy  to  this  individualistic  attribute. 
These  writers,  among  whom  we  find  Frenchmen  such  as  Demolins, 
only  see  half  of  the  truth.  The  whole  truth  is  that  Anglo-Saxon 
supremacy  is  due  to  the  ability  of  that  race  to  see  and  act  upon  the 

1 "  Entwickelung  der  Gesetze  des  menschlichen  Verkehrs,  und  der  daraus  flies- 
senden  Regeln  fur  menschliches  Handeln,"  von  Hermann  Heinrich  Gossen,  Braun- 
schweig, 1&54,  pp.  8.V85. 

2 "Theory  of  Political  Economy,"  by  W.  Stanley  Jev*ons,  London  &  New  York, 
1871,  Chapters  III,  IV  (see  especially  pp.  61-69). 


568  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

principle  that  while  individual  initiative  can  alone  accomplish  great 
results,  it  must  be  free,  and  that,  under  the  influence  of  the  normal 
and  natural  forces  of  society,  and  taking  the  whole  of  human  nature 
into  the  account,  it  cannot  be  free  unless  the  avenues  for  its  activity 
be  kept  open  by  the  power  of  society  at  large.  Even  the  economists 
are  beginning  to  see  that  "free  competition"  in  business  is  a  myth 
unless  it  be  protected  from  the  universal  tendency  of  all  competition 
in  nature  speedily  and  surely  to  end  in  monopoly. 

SOCIAL  INVENTION 

We  have  seen  that  society  has  already  gone  far  beyond  its  primi- 
tive role  of  mere  regulation  with  a  view  to  antagonizing  the  natural 
competitive  influences  that  choke  individual  activity,  exaggerate 
inequalities,  and  restrict  liberty.  It  has  achieved  in  much  the  same 
sense  that  the  individual  achieves,  the  chief  difference  being  that  it 
has  had  to  deal  with  the  far  more  complex  and  inscrutable  social 
forces.  We  have  now  to  note  another  parallel  between  individual 
achievement  and  social  achievement.  We  saw  in  the  last  chapter 
that  most  individual  achievement  had  been  due  to  invention  and 
scientific  discovery  in  the  domain  of  the  physical  forces.  The 
parallel  consists  in  the  fact  that  social  achievement  consists  in 
invention  and  discovery  in  the  domain  of  the  social  forces.  It 
is  still  further  completed  by  the  circumstance  that  in  both  fields 
all  the  earlier  achievements  were  empirical.  The  social  art,  upon 
which  Condorcet  so  frequently  lays  stress,  is  thus  far  mainly  an 
empirical  art,  and,  like  the  art  of  pottery,  for  example,  has  been 
the  result  of  a  series  of  separately  discovered  improvements  upon 
the  original  invention.  In  other  words,  it  has  been  a  growth  due 
to  long  and  repeated  experiences,  failures,  and  successes,  under 
the  influence  of  a  slowly  developing  collective  consciousness. 

As  legitimate  conclusions  from  facts  furnished  by  the  past  and 
the  present  belong  properly  to  pure  sociology,  we  may  profitably 
dwell  for  a  few  moments  upon  the  principles  underlying  collective 
action.  And  first  of  all  must  it  be  again  insisted  that  the  social 
forces  do  not  differ  from  other  natural  forces  except  in  their  com- 
plexity and  consequent  obscurity.  The  difficulty  in  their  compre- 
hension due  to  these  causes  explains  the  long  empirical  stage  in  the 
social  science.  Until  within  a  few  years  there  has  been  no  investi- 
gation in  social  science  such  as  that  which  led  to  the  scientific  era 


CH.  xx]  SOCIAL   INVENTION  569 

in  the  other  departments.  The  study  of  society  is  to-day  where 
that  of  physics  and  chemistry  were  in  the  fifteenth  century.  There 
are  still  those  in  high  seats  of  learning  who  deny  that  there  are 
social  laws  in  the  scientific  sense.  Those  whose  business  it  is  to 
deal  practically  and  directly  with  the  social  forces,  legislators,  ad- 
ministrators, judges,  have  rarely  ever  opened  a  book  on  sociology. 
Is  there,  indeed,  on  sociology  a  book  from  which  they  could  gather 
any  useful  principles  to  guide  them  in  the  performance  of  their 
duties  ?  There  certainly  should  be  text-books  plainly  setting  forth 
these  practical  principles,  and  the  science  should  be  taught  to  all 
who  are  at  all  likely  ever  to  be  called  upon  to  perform  any  of  these 
high  functions. 

If  we  carefully  analyze  an  invention  we  shall  find  that  it  consists 
first  in  recognizing  a  property  or  force  and  secondly  in  making 
material  adjustments  calculated  to  cause  that  property  or  force  to 
act  in  the  manner  desired  by  the  inventor,  presumably  to  his  ad- 
vantage. He  recognizes  the  property  or  force  as  always  operative. 
The  only  difference  he  makes  in  it  is  to  cause  it  to  act  in  a  certain 
way  different  from  the  way  in  which  it  was  acting  before  he  made 
his  adjustments.  If  he  wishes  air  or  gas  of  a  certain  kind  to  go 
into  an  inclosed  space  he  pumps  out  the  air  or  gas  already  there, 
establishes  a  passage,  and  the  other  fluid  rushes  in  of  itself.  We 
may  say  metaphorically  that  he  induces  it  to  go  where  he  wants  it. 
In  dealing  with  animals,  while  they  are  often  driven  and  compelled 
through  fear  to  go  where  they  are  wanted,  it  is  usually  found  easier 
and  cheaper  in  energy  expended  to  induce  or  attract  them  by  ap- 
pealing to  some  want  that  is  easily  satisfied,  as  by  showing  them  a 
lump  of  salt. 

Now  the  desires  and  wants  of  men  constitute  the  forces  of  society, 
complicated,  as  they  are  in  the  higher  stages,  by  the  directive  agent 
in  all  its  manifold  aspects.  Social  invention  consists  in  making 
such  adjustments  as  will  induce  men  to  act  in  the  manner  most 
advantageous  to  society.  It  is  possible,  as  with  animals,  to  drive 
them,  to  force  them,  to  coerce  and  compel  them,  but  considering  the 
sensitive  organization  of  the  human  animal,  the  knowledge  that  he 
has  of  the  motives  of  others,  the  keen  sense  of  justice  with  which 
he  is  endowed,  and  the  influence  which  his  intelligence  gives  him  to 
react  upon  harsh  measures  and  bring  the  coercive  power  into  disre- 
pute, if  not  to  cause  its  overthrow,  it  is  far  better,  safer,  and  more 


570  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  m 

economical,  whenever  possible,  to  secure  the  end  through  some 
form  of  persuasion  or  inducement.  The  law  of  parsimony,  as  has 
been  pointed  out,  is  a  universal  law,  and  can  be  implicitly  relied 
upon.  The  social  inventor  has  only  to  make  sure  what  will  consti- 
tute a  greater  gain  or  marginal  advantage  and  to  devise  measures 
that  will  harmonize  this  with  the  social  good  in  order  to  secure  with 
unerring  certainty  such  a  course  of  action  on  the  part  of  all  affected 
by  the  measures  as  will  secure  the  end  sought. 

If  in  the  framing  of  human  laws  this  principle  were  always 
carefully  studied  it  would  soon  be  discovered  that  man  is  as 
easily  managed  by  intelligence  as,  in  the  last  chapter,  nature  was 
shown  to  be.  It  would  be  found  that  mandatory  and  prohibitory, 
and  indeed  penal  legislation  generally  is  for  the  most  part  unneces- 
sary. That  form  of  legislation,  always  heretofore  and  still  the 
predominant  type,  is  very  expensive  in  many  ways,  but  chiefly  in 
causing  irritation  and  reaction,  and  thus  weakening  the  authority 
of  the  state.  The  day  will  undoubtedly  come  when  it  will  be 
held  to  be  intolerable.  It  restricts  human  liberty,  of  course  pre- 
sumably by  liberating  other  assumed  innocent  parties  whose  liberty 
had  been  abridged  by  the  offender.  But  the  contention  is  that  only 
the  most  obdurate  offenders  require  to  have  their  liberty  restricted, 
since  they,  too,  have  wants,  and  the  social  inventor  should  devise 
means  by  which  such  wants  shall  be  spontaneously  satisfied  through 
wholly  innocuous  or  even  socially  beneficial  action.  This  is  the 
principle  which  I  have  called  "attractive  legislation,"1  and  upon 
which  I  have  sufficiently  insisted  from  a  theoretical  point  of  view  in 
other  works.  I  have  also  shown  that  it  has  been  acted  upon  by 
enlightened  states,  though  only  to  a  limited  extent.  Most  of  the  ex- 
amples relate  to  the  collection  of  revenues,  which,  from  its  paramount 
necessity,  is  the  field  in  which  the  keenest  collective  thinking  has 
been  done.  As  an  example  in  another  field  may  be  mentioned 
the  act  of  Parliament  introduced  by  Sir  James  Graham  in  1843r 
reducing  the  working  hours  of  children  in  factories  to  half  time  and 
requiring  that  the  other  half  of  the  day  be  spent  at  school.  Of  this 
law  Mr.  Gunton  says :  — 

The  attendance  of  children  at  school  being  made  an  indispensable  condi- 
tion of  their  employment,  tended  to  secure  the  aid  of  parents  to  enforce  the 

1  "  Dynamic  Sociology  "  (see  passages  cited  in  the  index) ;  "  The  Psychic  Factors 
of  Civilization,"  p.  306. 


ca.  xx]  SOCIAL   INVENTION  571 

school  law.  Even  those  parents  who  were  the  most  ignorant  and  indifferent 
to  the  education  of  their  children  now  became  very  eager  to  keep  them  con- 
stant in  their  school  attendance,  because  it  was  the  only  means  of  securing 
their  meager  earnings.1 

Moral  purposes  are  also  sometimes  secured  through  the  application 
of  this  principle,  as  where  commodities  regarded  as  socially  injurious 
are  excluded  by  duties  so  high  as  to  become  prohibitive,  or  where 
businesses,  such  as  lotteries,  considered  immoral,  are  forbidden  to 
send  advertisements  through  the  mails. 

One  of  the  features  of  the  South  Australian  policy  outlined  by 
Dr.  Cockburn,  as  quoted  above,  properly  belongs  to  this  class,  and 
special  attention  should  be  called  to  it  as  belonging  to  a  department 
in  which  collective  action  can  secure  the  most  important  results.  I 
refer  to  the  "  Government,  Produce  Export  Depot."  It  is  not  so 
much  production  as  distribution  that  calls  for  intelligent  collective 
action.  Science  and  invention  under  purely  individual  initiative 
have  rendered  production  practically  unlimited.  It  is  limited  only 
by  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  distribution.  By  this  I  mean  Social 
Distribution,  as  defined  in  Chapter  XIII,  and  as  distinguished  from 
economic  distribution.  This  is  an  exclusively  social  problem  and  can 
only  be  solved  by  social  action.  It  is  to-day  the  most  important  of 
all  social  problems,  because  its  complete  solution  would  accomplish 
nothing  less  than  the  abolition  of  poverty  and  want  from  society. 
The  South  Australian  government  has  taken  one  short  step  in  the 
direction  of  the  solution  of  this  problem. 

Thus  one  by  one  are  the  great  achievements  of  the  individual 
intellect  becoming  socialized  through  collective  action.  The  qujes- 
tion  is  being  seriously  asked  why  society  as  a  whole,  and  all  man- 
kind from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  should  not  profit  by  the 
brilliant  achievements  of  the  elite  of  mankind.  Inventors  and 
scientific  discoverers  are  generous,  and  if  they  could  dictate  the  policy 
of  the  world  the  results  would  be  freely  distributed  and  completely 
socialized.  All  they  would  ask  would  be  a  modest  competency  for 
themselves  and  their  families  and  a  decent  legacy  for  their  heirs. 
Alas  !  many  of  them  never  obtain  even  this.  The  results  are  taken 
up  by  the  great  economic  world,  as,  indeed,  they  should  be  and  must 
be,  if  they  are  ever  realized,  and  society  only  secures  so  much  as 

1 "  Wealth  and  Progress,  a  Critical  Examination  of  the  Labor  Problem,"  by 
George  Gun  ton,  New  York,  1887,  p.  299. 


572  PURE   SOCIOLOGY  [PART  in 

cannot  be  prevented  from  filtering  through  the  economic  sieve  which 
is  often  very  fine.  The  great  world  movement  of  socialization  is 
nothing  else  than  the  gradual  recognition  of  this  by  society  in  its 
collective  capacity,  and  the  tardy,  often  fitful,  inconsistent,  and  un- 
even, but  yet  sure  and  steady  determination  ultimately  to  claim  and 
to  have  its  full  share  in  the  achievement  of  the  human  race. 

SOCIAL  APPROPRIATION 

It  was  shown  in  Chapter  III,  and  more  fully  in  Chapter  XIX, 
that  human  achievement  consists  essentially  in  knowledge  —  knowl- 
edge of  what  and  of  how,  of  things  and  of  ways  —  which  consti- 
tutes from  the  time  of  its  acquisition  a  perpetual  source  of  all 
material  and  spiritual  blessings.  The  products  perish,  are  consumed 
and  enjoyed,  but  the  knowledge  insures  their  unlimited  reproduction 
and  multiplication.  It  is  therefore  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
this  knowledge  be  preserved.  What  specially  characterizes  the  his- 
torical races  is  that  they  have  preserved  the  knowledge  bequeathed 
to  them  by  their  predecessors  and  constantly  added  to  it  making 
the  result  cumulative.  This  has  also  caused  progress  in  these  races 
to  go  by  ratios  instead  of  by  increments.  It  is  this  knowledge  that 
constitutes  the  social  germ-plasm,  and  it  is  its  preservation  that 
forms  the  sociological  analogue  of  the  continuity  of  the  germ-plasm. 
As  Weismann  says,  the  germ-plasm  is  immortal.  In  much  the  same 
sense  we  may  say  that  in  the  great  trunk  line  of  descent  of  civiliza- 
tion the  social  germ-plasm  is  immortal. 

But  Weismann  is  careful  to  explain  that  by  immortality  he  only 
means  that  the  germ-plasm  that  actually  passes  on  from  generation 
to  generation  thereby  becomes  immortal,  which  imputes  no  attribute 
of  indestructibility  or  charmed  existence  to  the  germ-plasm  itself. 
In  fact  it  is  among  the  frailest  of  beings,  and  not  only  succumbs 
quickly  to  any  hostile  power, -but  in  the  nature  of  things  possesses 
an  ephemeral  existence  unless  it  chance  to  be  selected  to  the  great 
function  of  continuing  life.  For  every  germ  thus  selected  millions 
necessarily  perish.  It  is  much  the  same  with  the  social  germ-plasm, 
though  the  analogy  here  fails  as  to  the  principle  involved.  While 
the  biological  germ-plasm  is  the  very  bearer  of  heredity  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  knowledge,  the  social  germ-plasm,  is  incapable  of 
hereditary  transmission.  The  apparent  failure  in  the  parallel  here, 
however,  is  due  to  the  tendency  to  cross  the  two  fields  and  to  apply 


CH.  xx]  SOCIAL   APPROPRIATION  573 

biological  principles  to  sociology.  Organic  and  social  heredity  are 
not  the  same  and  cannot  be  interchanged. 

Social  heredity  consists  in  the  social  transmission  of  this  plasm 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  this  is  not  a  vital  but  a  social 
process.  It  consists  in  planting  knowledge  into  individual  minds 
after  they  are  born.  The  only  way  that  the  social  germ-plasm  can 
be  continued  is  by  infusing  it  into  the  individual.  No  one  is  born 
with  the  least  rudiment  of  it  inherent  in  his  mental  constitution. 
Every  one  must  acquire  every  item  of  it  during  life.  Cut  off  any 
portion  of  mankind  from  the  main  stream  of  thought  and  it  loses 
at  once  all  that  has  been  bequeathed  to  the  civilized  world  at  such 
enormous  cost.  This  knowledge,  wrought  by  toil  and  struggle,  by 
patience  and  thought,  by  genius  and  skill,  and  heaped  up  little  by 
little  through  ages  of  time,  is  the  Promethean  fire  that  must  never 
be  allowed  to  go  out.  There  has  always  been  a  vague  consciousness 
of  this  awful  responsibility,  and  this  consciousness  has  grown  con- 
stantly clearer  with  time. 

The  supreme  duty  of  civilized  man  is  therefore  obviously  to  main- 
tain the  continuity  of  the  social  germ-plasm.  It  is  social  self-pres- 
ervation and  is  as  imperative  from  the  standpoint  of  society  as  is 
life  from  the  standpoint  of  the  individual.  It  is  the  life  of  society. 
Density  of  population,  the  press,  means  of  travel  and  intercommuni- 
cation, and  the  needs  of  commerce  and  industry,  suffice  to  insure  the 
general  economic  and  material  results  of  achievement,  and  to  make 
the  knowledge  of  which  it  consists  generally  available  in  society. 
But  this  is  not  complete  social  appropriation.  This  cannot  be 
attained  until  the  mass  of  mankind  shall  possess  not  merely  the 
benefits  of  achievement  but  the  knowledge  itself.  This,  as  any  one 
can  see,  it  never  has  possessed.  Only  a  very  limited  number  have 
an  idea  even  of  the  history  of  achievement,  and  as  to  the  knowledge, 
it  is  confined  to  a  mere  handful.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  one  who  pos- 
sesses it  all,  and  there  is  no  need  that  any  one  do  this.  It  is  so 
vast  that  the  best  informed  can  have  only  general  acquaintance  with 
it  as  a  whole.  But  by  a  careful  classification  it  is  possible  to  reduce 
it  to  a  scheme  that  shall  not  only  practically  embrace  it  all  but  shall 
be  fairly  within  the  power  of  the  ordinary  mind  to  grasp  and  hold  it 
if  presented  in  the  proper  way. 

The  vague  social  consciousness  of  which  I  have  spoken  of  the 
necessity  for  the  social  appropriation  of  human  achievement  has 


574  PURE  SOCIOLOGY  [PART  HI 

worked  itself  out  into  a  variety  of  different  systems  of  public  educa- 
tion, but  so  differently  have  educationalists  conceived  the  problem, 
and  so  false  have  been  the  greater  part  of  the  ideas  of  mankind  as 
to  what  constitutes  education,  that  the  whole  educational  movement 
of  the  world  has  consisted  in  empirically  staggering  at  a  confused 
ideal  only  dimly  and  variously  formed.  While  many  individuals 
have  formed  such  ideals  and  founded  institutions  for  their  realiza- 
tion, and  while  the  church  has  always  conducted  educational  enter- 
prises according  to  its  own  ideas  of  what  education  means,  it  is  after 
all  the  state,  or  society  in  its  collective  capacity,  that  has  made  the 
most  important  advances  in  this  direction.  Whatever  it  has  done 
has  been  of  a  more  practical  character  than  the  efforts  of  individuals 
or  ecclesiastical  bodies.  While  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  clearly 
seen  that  education  should  consist  in  the  social  appropriation  of  the 
knowledge  that  has  civilized  the  world,  it  has  taken  long  steps 
toward  the  realization  of  this  truth.  Above  all  it  has  acted  more 
than  any  other  interest  on  the  assumption  that  education  is  for  all, 
that  it  is  a  social  need,  that  its  benefits  are  proportional  to  its  gener- 
ality. It  is  now,  in  the  leading  countries  of  the  world,  extending  it 
to  the  masses.  In  France,  in  Germany,  and  in  the  United  States, 
it  now  reaches  the  great  majority  of  the  members  of  society.  It  is 
true  that  for  the  greater  number  of  these  the  amount  of  instruction 
is  very  small.  It  does  not  include  any  knowledge  at  all  except  as 
incidentally  acquired,  but  it  usually  puts  into  the  hands  of  the 
learner  the  tools  with  which  he  may,  if  so  disposed,  obtain  knowl- 
edge for  himself.  The  so-called  rudiments  of  an  education  are  this 
and  nothing  more.  Surely  this  must  always  be  the  first  step,  but 
unfortunately  it  is  too  often  the  only  one.  But  in  the  great  cities 
of  the  world  many  other  steps  are  taken,  until,  in  America,  for 
example,  the  "High  Schools"  are  almost  turning  out  scholars, 
and  certificates  from  many  of  them  place  the  holders  on  the  thres- 
hold of  the  higher  institutions.  Then  the"  several  American  States 
are  rapidly  establishing  what  they  call  State  Universities,  some  of 
which  already  take  rank  with  the  older  endowed  universities.  The 
future  of  these  institutions  is  hard  to  predict.  It  begins  to  look  as 
if  they  might  ultimately  supersede  the  former.  It  is  certain  that 
they  are  freer  and  more  democratic  than  endowed  institutions,  and 
while  a  few  of  the  lesser  ones  are  sometimes  somewhat  affected  by 
political  issues,  they  are  never  suspected  of  being  organized  for  the 


CH.  xx]  SOCIAL   APPROPRIATION  575 

purpose  of  creating  public  opinion  on  questions  supposed  to  affect 
vested  interests. 

In  France  and  Germany  nearly  all  higher  education  is  now 
socialized,  and  the  state  regards  public  instruction  as  one  of  its 
great  functions.  England  and  other  countries  are  slowly  working 
up  toward  this  ideal,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  twentieth 
century  will  see  the  complete  socialization  of  education  throughout 
the  civilized  world.  This  is  as  it  should  be,  for  it  is  society  that  is 
chiefly  interested  in  the  result.  It  is  the  recipient  of  the  principal 
benefits.  Moreover,  education  is  the  one  kind  of  human  enterprise 
that  cannot  be  brought  under  the  action  of  the  economic  law  of  sup- 
ply and  demand.  It  cannot  be  conducted  on  "  business  principles." 
There  is  no  "  demand  "  for  education  in  the  economic  sense.  The 
child  knows  nothing  of  its  value,  and  the  parent  rarely  desires  it. 
Society  is  the  only  interest  that  can  be  said  to  demand  it,  and 
society  must  supply  its  own  demand.  Those  who  found  educational 
institutions  or  promote  educational  enterprises  put  themselves  in 
the  place  of  society  and  assume  to  speak  and  act  for  society,  and 
not  for  any  economic  interest.  . 

The  action  of  society  in  inaugurating  and  carrying  on  a  great 
educational  system,  however  defective  we  may  consider  that  system 
to  be,  is  undoubtedly  the  most  promising  form  thus  far  taken  by 
collective  achievement.  It  means  much  even  now,  but  for  the  future 
it  means  nothing  less  than  the  complete  social  appropriation  of  indi- 
vidual achievement  which  has  civilized  the  world.  It  is  the  crown- 
ing act  in  the  long  list  of  acts  that  we  have  only  partially  and 
imperfectly  considered,  constituting  the  socialization  of  achievement. 


INDEX 


[Figures  in  heavy  type  refer  to  heads.] 


Abdominalia,  315 
Abelard,  Peter  F.,  400 
Aberration  of  light,  536 
Abolition  of  slavery,  269 
About,  Edmond,  quoted,  472 
Absolute  ethics,  420,  421  - 
Abstract  ideas,  296 

—  reasoning,  298,  342,  441,  496,  505 

—  right,  420,  421,  549 

—  vs.  concrete  sciences,  69 
Academies,  Scientific,  294,  537 
Accomplices,  Morality  of,  209 
Achievement,  15,  25,  28,  29,  31,  34,  35,  38, 

40,  94,  95,  97,  214,  232  238,  247,  251, 
254,  260,  265,  393,  403,  404,  412,  433, 
437,  510,  512,  531,  532, -544,  545,  546, 
548,  555,  571,  572 

—  Collective,  548,  555,  567 

—  Immortality  of,  43 

—  Individual  vs.  social,  568 

—  Motives  to,  41,  42,  43 

—  Socialization  of,  544 
Acquired  characters,  34,  272,  499,  500 
Actinia,  155 

Actio  in  distans,  466 
Actions,  Analysis  of,  248-250 

—  vs.  phenomena,  57 

Activities   of    natural   products,  93,  94, 

118 

Adam  and  Eve,  384,  385 
Adaptation,  76,  77, 126, 127, 180,  249,  261 
Adjustment  in  invention  and  telic  action, 

467,569 

Adler,  Cyrus,  509 

Advantage,  Individual  vs.  social,  509,  566 
— ,  Marginal,  60,  570 
— ,  Principle  of,   115,   121,    125,  170,  228, 

234,  308,  313,  493,  502,  566 
Advantageous  faculties,  475-491,  493,  500, 

509,511 

,  Neglect  of  the,  492 

Advertisements,  488 
jEneid,  79 
jEschylus,  393 


^Etiology,  111 

Affection,  Absence  of,  among  primitive 
peoples,  348,  392 

Affections,  102, 141,  438 

— ,  Parental  and  consanguineal,  187,  258, 
412,427 

Affective  faculties,  102,  129,  136,  140,  426, 
461,  473 

Afghan  tribes,  556 

Agassiz,  Louis,  85, 195 

Age  of  the  earth,  38,  39,  40, 116 

human  race,  38,  39,  201 

Agencies  or  agents  in  society,  97 

Aggregation,  Law  of,  80,  441 

— ,  Social,  212,  213 

Agitators,  83,  451,  452 

Agricola,  Georg,  507 

Agriculture,  Economic  importance  of,  ex- 
aggerated, 279 

— ,  Origin  of,  524 

Ainos,  229 

Air-pump,  Invention  of  the,  522,  535 

Akkas,  229 

Alalus,  or  speechless  man,  188 

Alaska,  Indians  of,  284 

Albertus  Magnus,  507,  533 

Albumen,  119 

Albuminoids,  117, 118 

Alchemists,  507 

Alexander  ab  Alexandro,  507 

Alexandrian  school,  506,  531 

Algebra,  27 

Algometer,  160 

Algonkian  period,  39,  40 

Alimentation,  Social,  523 

Alkaloids,  118 

Allah,  526 

Allen,  Grant,  298,  481 

Alms,  Effect  of  giving,  61 

Alphabet,  26, 191, 192,  519,  531 

— ,  Telegraphic,  523 

Alternation  of  generations,  233,  312,  313, 
374 

Altro-nutrition,  291,  373,  377 


677 


578 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Altruism,  140,  187,  262,  264,  346,  347,  418, 

422,  427,  428,  430,  450,  453 
— ,  Animal,  or  reproductive,  291,  418,  419, 
422,  426,  431 

—  essentially  social,  426 
— ,  Intellectual,  444 

— ,  The  word,  424,  425 

Aluminum,  19 

Amalgamation,   Race,   205,  356,  376,  449, 

548,567 

— ,  Social,  274,  427,  446,  526 
Amazonism,  300,  338,  340 
Ambrosia  a'rtemisisefolia,  321 
Amerinds,  81,  270 
Amoeba,  274,  305 
Amoaboid  forms,  118 
Amorality,  303,  430,  483 
Amorphous  objects,  51,  469 
Ampere,  Andre  Marie,  535 
Ampheclexis,  361,  396,  401,  406,  500 
Amphigonia,  310 
Amphimixis,  310 

Anabolic,  Phenomena  classed  as,  131,  316 
Analogies,  Biologic,  of  social  phenomena, 

71,  205,  273,  274,  564,  565 
Analytical  geometry,  27,  534 
Anatomy,  181,  507,  533,  534 
— ,  Social,  15 
Anaxagoras,  505,  531 
Anaximander,  505,  531,  536 
Anaximenes,  505,  531 
Andrarchy,  331 
Andreclexis,  361,  363,  372,  376,  396,  401, 

434 
Androcentric  Theory,  The,  291,  299-302, 

316,  317,  322,   330,   332,  335,   337,   339, 

364,  366,  367,  368,  371,  372,  412 
Androcracy,  341,  348,  351,  353,  361,  370, 

376,  396,  399,  401,  405 
Auethical  action,  303,  430,  483 
Angiospermae,  70 
Anglo-Saxons,  567 
Animal  altruism,  291,  418,  419,  422,  426, 

431 

—  origin  of  man,  196,  339,  490 

—  population  of  the  globe,  482 

—  societies,  29,  185 

—  spirits,  138, 139,  140 
Animals,  94,  95 

— ,  Love  of,  429 

— ,  Man's  treatment  of,  482,  483 

— ,  Psychic  attributes  of,  17,  155,  157,  334, 

514 

Animation,  128,  140 
Anlagen,  42,  87,  236,  240,  323 
Anschauung,  479,  480 
Antennaria  plantaginifolia,  321 
Anthropocentric  theory,  38,  332 
Anthropology,  53,  537,  538 

—  as  a  special  social  science,  15,  38 


Anthropology,  Sociology  as,  14 
Anthropomorphic  conceptions,   176,   464, 

504,514 

Anthropoteleology,  465 
Anthropozoic  period,  38 
Antinomies,  175 
Antisocial  tendencies,  416,  424,  548,  555, 

556,  557 
Antithesis,  175 
Antivivisection,  429 
Antrobus,  Sir  E.,  530 
Ape-man,  333 

Apes,  197,  199,  218,  432,  433,  514 
— ,  Anthropoid,  332,  333,  a"J7,  342 
Apollo  Belvidere,  84 
Apologizing  for  facts,  5,  339,  341,  349 
Apparent  vs.  real,  332 
Appetite,  102,  138,  377 
— ,  Intellectual,  437,  438,  439,  493 
Appetition,  102, 103,  323,  325 
Applied  science,  viii,  3 

—  sociology,  vii,  viii,  3,  144,  281,  431,  448, 
546 

Approbation,  Love  of,  41,  42,  43 

Arabian  literature,  366 

Arabic  numerals,  26,  27,  505,  528 

Arachnidse,  315,  327 

Arbeitsscheu,  162 

Arch,  Principle  of  the,  520 

Archean  period,  39, 40 

Archeozoic  (Archozoic)  age,  38,  40 

Archigonia,  116,  307 

Archimedes,  531,  532 

Architecture,  24,  286,  437,  517,  518 

Areography,  69 

Areois,  382 

Areology,  69 

Aristarchus  of  Samos,  531 

Aristotle,  56,  229,  442,  458,  506,  527,  531, 

532 

Arithmetic,  26,  497 
Arrested   development  theory,  292,  299, 

322,331 

Arrow,  Origin  of  the,  516,  518 
Art  as  a  human  achievement,  26,  41,  84 
— ,  Conservatism  in,  434,  454 
— ,  Fine,  vs.  useful,  88,  490 
— ,  Oriental,  82,  434 
— ,  Philosophy  of,  433-436 
— ,  Progress  of,  453,  532 
— ,  Relation  of,  to  science,  512 
— ,  Sex  in,  385,  386 
— ,  The  social,  568 
Arthritism,  288 
Arthropoda,  327 
Artificial  selection,  361 

—  structures,  176,  222,  471 

—  vs.  natural,  viii,  17,  465,  511 
Artists,  Social,  83,  84,  452 

Arts,  Development  of  the,  192,  515 


INDEX 


579 


Aryan  race,  238,  339,  349,  362,  392,  520 

Asceticism,  384 

Ascidians,  306 

Asexual  reproduction,  232,  233,  305-313 

Asia,  Migration  through,  518 

— ,  Religious  movement  in,  532,  533 

Assassination,  55 

Assimilation,  106,  308 

— ,  Compound,  212,  238,  392,  511,  513 

— ,  Pacific,  215 

— ,  Social,  193,  222,  237,  267,  360,  391, 392, 

428,  449,  550 

Association,  Advantage  of,  511 
— ,  Origin  of,  244 

—  primarily  sexual,  389 
— ,  Sociology  as,  14 
Astrolabe,  527 

Astronomy,  History  and  progress  of,  507, 

527-542 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  67,  69 
Astrophysics,  540 
Atavism,  242,  243,  500,  503,  510 
Athens,  Population  of,  272 
Atmosphere,  Pressure  of   the,  535,  539, 

544 

Atomic  theory,  505,  531,  541 
Atoms,  171,  174, 176 
— ,  The  pelting  of,  136 
Atom-soul,  136 
Attraction,  171,  173,  569 
Attractive  legislation,  570,  571 

—  social  forces,  261 
Aubrey,  Upper,  38 

Auger,  The,  known  to  antiquity,  519 

Augustine,  Saint,  35,  56,  356 

Austria,  Incomplete  integration  of,  214 

Authorship,  444 

Automobile,  471 

Avebury,  Lord,  343,  561 

Averrhoes,  Abul  Walid  Mohammed,  533 

Avicenna.  (Ibn  Sina) ,  507,  533 

Avogadro,  Amadeo,  585 

Awareness,  102, 119,  460,  479 

Axes  as  primitive  implements,  516 

Axis  cylinder  of  brain  cells,  391 

Babylonians,  Scientific  achievements  of 

the,  519,  527,  528 
Bach,  Johann  Sebastian,  437 
Bachofen,  J.  J.,  300,  336,  337,  339,  343 
Bacon,  Francis  (Lord  Verulam),26,35, 56, 

508,  521 
— , ,  quoted,  304,  387,  472,  534, 

536 

— ,  Roger,  507,  533 
Bacteriology,  110 
Baer's  law,  87 
Bagehot,  Walter,  212,  520 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  226 
Baiera,  75 


Balance,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519, 

539 

Barbarian  invasion  of  Rome,  520 
Barology,  48,  539 
Barometer,  Invention  of  the,  522 
Earth,  Paul,  13,  425 
Bastiat,  Frede'ric,  56,  253 
Bathmism,  31,  101,  118,  119,  136,  245,  502 
Batta  people,  Sumatra,  338 
Beard,  Occurrence  of,  in  apes,  333 
Beard,  George  M.,  quoted,  147 
Beatrice  Portinari,  400 
Beautiful,  The,  88,  261,  418,  430,  434,  435, 

495 
Beauty  not  primarily  attributed  to  women, 

369 

— ,  Origin  of,  in  women,  362,  363,  377 
Bees,  307,  317 
Beethoven,  Ludwig,  437 
Beetles,  330 

Being,  Fruitless  speculations  about,  526 
Belief,  444 

Bellamy,  Edward,  83,  84 
Bellew,  Henry  Walter,  556 
Bellows,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519 
Benecke,  E.  F.  M.,  392 
Beneficence  distinguished  from  altruism, 

425 
Benevolence  distinguished  from  altruism, 

425,  429 

Bennettitales,  75 
Bentham,  Jeremy,  140 
Berdurani,  556 
Bernes,  Marcel,  483 
Bernouilli,  Jean,  166 
Berzelius,  Johan  Jacob,  541 
Bessel,  Friedrich  Wilhelm,  539 
Bible,  365,  366,  451,  519 
Bicycle,  471,  524 

Billson,  William  W.,  quoted,  556,  657 
Binomial  system  of  nomenclature,  542 
Biologic  economics,  324,  469 

—  origin  of  the  objective  faculties,  475 

subjective  faculties,  111,  475 

Biological  imperative,  302,  324,  358,  359, 

405,406 

—  statics  and  dynamics,  159, 180-182,  542 
Biology,  Age  of,  541 

—  as  a  special  social  science,  15 

—  Cerebral,  69 

—  Chemical  basis  of,  90 

—  History  and  progress  of,  537,  542 

—  in  how  far  an  exact  science,  47,  48 

—  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  67-69,  101 

—  Sociology  as,  14 

—  Static  and  dynamic,  224,  225,  253,  542 

—  The  word,  119 

—  Transcendental,  124,  125 
Biophores,  311 

Bios,  93,  119 


580 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Bird  of  paradise,  329,  431,  432 

Bison,  113 

Bit,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519 

Blackstone,  William,  24 

Blackwall,  J.,  327 

Blatchford,  Robert,  quoted,  451 

Blind  Tom,  36 

Blood  bond,  187, 193,  415, 416,  427,  428, 556 

— ,  Circulation  of  the,  139,  534 

Bloody  Mary,  450 

Blow,  Detmar,  530 

Bliimner,  Hugo,  519 

Boats,  Early  construction  of,  519 

Bokorny,  T.,  118 

Bolting  machine,  521 

Bonheur,  Rosa,  295 

Books  as  vehicles  of  thought,  205 

— ,  Diminishing  durability  of,  24,  25 

Boomerang,  515 

Bossuet,  Jacques  Benigne,  365 

Boston,  Streets  of,  466 

Botany,  The  new,  71 

Botocudos,  338 

Bourgeoisie,  281,  446 

Bow,  Origin  of  the,  515,  516,  518,  519 

Boyle,  Robert,  535,  536 

Bradley,  James,  536 

Brahe,  Tycho,  507,  521,  536,  539 

Brahminism,  33 

Brain  as  an  emotional  center,  41,  438,  493 

a  secondary  sexual  character,  493 

—  cortex  primarily  a  center  of  taste,  437 

—  conforms  to  the  law  of  increase  by  use, 
395 

—  development,   100,   113,  121,  122,  335, 
336,  352,  360,  376,  391,  418,  422,  423, 
432,  446,  498,  511 

— ,  Male  vs.  female,  293,  294,  336,  369,  370 
— ,  Social  homologue  of  the,  565 

—  structure,  391 
Branca,  Giovanni,  522 
Bre'al,  Michel,  188 

Breast,  The,  as  the  seat  of  emotion,  262 

Breasted,  James  Henry,  504 

Breathing,  in  how  far  unconscious,  107 

Bretons,  338 

Brigandage,  557 

Brobdingnagians,  50 

Bronze,  Age  of,  25 

— ,  Early  use  of,  19,  513,  519 

Brooks,  W.  K.,  quoted,  293,  309,  322 

Bruno,  Giordano,  56,  508,  521 

Brutal,  Misuse  of  the  word,  347 

Bryce,  James,  quoted,  454,  560,  561 

Bryophytes,  318 

Bryozoans,  306 

Buckland,  William,  73 

Buckley,  Edmund,  383 

Buddhism,  33,  384,  533 

Budding,  Germinal,  306 


Budding,  Reproduction  by,  306 

Buds,  True  nature  of,  232 

Buttikofer,  J.,  196 

Buffon,  Georges  Louis  Leclerc,  56 

Bunsen,  Robert  Wilhelm,  540 

Bunsen  burner,  524 

Buridan's  ass,  159 

Burning  glasses,  517 

Burns,  Robert,  301 

Business  class,  511,  550,  567 

— ,  Deception  in,  487 

— ,  Origin  of,  209,  277 

—  principles,  575 

Butter  not  known  to  the  Homeric  Greeks, 

519 

Butterflies,  330 
Buxton,  Jedediah,  37 

Cabanis,  Pierre  Jean  George,  148 

Calamariaceae,  74 

Calamites,  73,  77 

Calculus,  Invention  of  the,  27,  30,  535 

Cambrian  period,  38,  39,  40,  76, 113,  478 

Camera  obscura,  521 

Campanella,  Tommaso,  56 

Canaanites,  204 

Canals  of  Mars,  470,  471,  539 

Candolle,  Alphonse  de,  383,  550 

_; ,  quoted,  162,  294,  295,  362,  445 

Cannabis  sativa,  320 

Cannibalism,  204,  266,  267,  269,  347,  352, 

556 

Caoutchouc,  Age  of,  25 
— ,  Invention  of,  523 
Capital  only  possible  under  the  state,  550 

—  punishment,  452,  453 
Captains  of  industry,  282,  558 
Capture,  Marriage  by,  210,  357,  401 
Carbon,  115 

—  dioxide,  115 

Carboniferous  period,  3&40,  73-77,  113 

Card  catalogues,  125 

Cardiac  plexus,  138 

Carey,  Henry  Charles,  56 

Carnivorous  habit  in  man,  199,  556 

Carpenter,  William  B.,  quoted,  443 

Carpocapsa  saltitans,  118 

Carriage,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519 

Caspar! ,  Otto,  171 

Cassini,  Giovanni  Domenico,  535 

Caste,  205,  244,  254,  511 

— ,  Origin  of,  205,  206,  215,  486 

— ,  Social  effects  of,  41,  267,  278,  361,  446, 

502,567 

— ,  Spirit  of,  206 
Casuarinaceae,  74 

Catabplic,  Phenomena  classed  as,  131,  316 
Categorical  imperative,  406 
Catenary,  520 
Cato,  356 


INDEX 


581 


Caus,  Salomon  de,  522 

Causality,  19,  136 

Causation,  Fructifying,  246 

— ,  Law  of,  45 

— ,  Order  due  to,  51 

Causes,  Conative.  94,  95,  97, 137, 156 

— ,  Disproportion  between,    and    effects, 

468 

— ,  Occasional,  120 
— ,  True  nature  of,  57,  94,  97,  111,  120, 136, 

170,  526 

Caveat  emptor,  487 
Cavendish,  Henry,  537 
Celibacy,  Social  effects  of,  351,  352,  357, 

362,  383,  388,  550 
Cell,  Social  homologues  of  the,  274 

—  theory  in  biology,  543 
Cells,  Courtship  of,  385,  386 
— ,  Function  of,  100,  176 

— ,  Reproduction  of,  305,  310 

Cenozoic  age,  38,  39,  40 

Centrifugal  and   centripetal  forces,  172, 

173,  178,  179,  463,  464,  550 
Cephalization,  336,  391,  511 
Cercariae,  422 

Cercopithecus  petaurista,  332 
Cerebral  biology,  69 
Cerebro-spinal  system,  138 
Ceremonial  government,  134, 186,  356, 548, 

549 

Ceremonies,  Primitive,  53,  134,  200,  206 
Cervantes  Saavedra,  Miguel  de,  394 
Chambers,  Robert,  73 
Chamfort,  Sebastian,  quoted,  400 
Chamisso,  Adelbert,  quoted,  414 
Chariots  of  the  ancients,  519 
Charivari,  357 

Charles,  Jacques  Alexandre  Cesar,  535 
Charlotte  von  Stein,  400 
Cheese  not  made  by  the  Homeric  Greeks, 

519 
Chemical  elements,   53,  90,  94,   95,  537, 

541 

—  systems,  174 

Chemism,  &4,  95,  97,  100, 101, 110, 115, 116, 

119,  120,  128, 178 
Chemistry,  Experimental  method  of,  509 

—  grew  out  of  alchemy,  507 

— ,  History  and  progress  of,  505,  533,  536, 
537,  540,  541 

—  in  how  far  an  exact  science,  47,  48 

—  Law  of  combination  in,  49,  53,  80,  90 

—  Organic,  541 

—  Physical  basis  of,  90 

—  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  68,  69 

—  Social,  210,  511 

,  value  of,  110 

Cheops,  Pyramid  of,  529,  530 
Chi-hoang-ti,  529 

Child  labor,  353,  451,  570,  571 


Children,  Deception  in,  157,  485 

— ,  Resemblance  of,  to  savages,  445,  503 

Chimneys  unknown  to  the  ancients,  518 

Chimpanzee,  196,  333 

Chinese  advances  in  astronomy,  527-529 

—  art,  434 

—  culture,  32,  194 

—  inventions,  520,  521 
— ,  Massacres  of,  428 

—  women,  363,  364 
Chin  on,  Chateau  of,  24 
Chinook  Indians,  284 
Chivalry,  345,  394,  395,  396,  402 
Chladni,  Ernst  Friedrich,  539 
Chlorine,  91 

Chop-sticks,  521 

Chrysostom,  Saint  John,  365 

Church,  The,  as  a  social  structure,  186, 

187,  193 

— ,  — ,  Educational  enterprises  of,  574 
Circulation,  Social,  523 
Circumnutation,  141 
Cirripedia  (cirripeds),  314,  315,  363 
Cities,  Modes  of  growth  of,  466 
City,  Origin  of  the,  524 
Civics  as  a  special  social  science,  15 
Civility,  Recent  development  of,  91 
Civilization,  American,  40,  518 
— ,  Artificial  character  of,  512 
— ,  Australian,  40 
— ,  Definition  of,  255,  289,  467 
— ,  Derivative  character  of,  411 
— ,  in  what  sense  unconscious,  20 
— ,  Leading  factors  of,  30,  443,  448,  454, 

532,  558 

— ,  Material,  18,  278,  454 
— ,  Measures  of,  285,  346 
— ,  Process  of,  16,  35 
— ,  Successive  transfers  of  the  seat  of,  79 
— ,  Treatment  of  women  a  test  of,  346, 

348,  366,  367 

—  vs.  culture,  18 

happiness,  430, 431 

socialization,  260,  463 

Civilizing  agencies,  260,  435,  448,  454 
Clan,  187,  193,  200,  201,  213,  357,  390,  421, 

427,  524,  548 
Clark,  John  B.,  29 
Classification  of  the  phylogenetic  forces, 

377 

sciences,  65-70 

sociogenetic  forces,  417,  418 

social  forces,  256 

— ,  Principles  of,  53,  256,  537 

Clausius,  Rudolf  Emanuel,  535 

Clay,  Early  use  of,  by  man,  19,  513,  516 

Clay,  Henry,  60 

Cleopatra,  369 

Clepsydra,  519,  527,  528 

Clifford,  William  Kingdon,  quoted,  423 


582 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Clocks,  First  introduction  of,  521 

Clothing,  198,  286,  289,  491,  524,  557 

Clotilde  de  Vaux,  299,  400 

Clouston,  W.  A.,  509 

Club,  The,  as  man's  first  weapon,  18, 197, 

514,  515,  516 
Club-mosses,  73 
Coast  lines,  Forms  of,  10 
Cobra,  429 
Cockburn,  John  A.,  561,  571 

— , quoted,  562-564 

Cockroaches,  76 

Coemption,  356 

Cohn,  Gustav,  quoted,  28,  29 

Colburn,  Zerah,  37 

Colchester  castle,  24 

Coleoptera,  317 

Collective  achievement,  548,  555,  575 

—  egotism,  212 

—  telesis,  545 
Collectivism,  Growth  of,  558 

—  vs.  communism,  566 

individualism,  567 

Collision,  136,  173, 175,  178,  236,  466 
Colloid  form  of  matter,  120 
Colonization,  79,  260 
Columbus,  Christopher,  518 
Combustion,  537 

Comets,  529 

Commercial  class,  550,  567 
Communication,  Age  of,  522 
Communism,  274,  276,  566,  567 

—  vs.  collectivism,  566,  567 
Compass,  Invention  of  the,  520, 525 
Competition,  175,  511,  551 

— ,  Aggressive,  489 
— ,  Free,  568 
Complemental  females,  363 

—  males,  314,  363 
Composition  of  forces,  164 
Compound  assimilation,  212,  238,  392,  511, 

513 

Comprehensive  types,  85,  86 
Compromise,  174,  175,  207,  208,  212,  215 
Comte,  Auguste,  36, 65,  66, 67, 90, 140, 187, 

212,  224,  851,  367,  380,  395,  400, 425,  526, 

527 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  5,  124,  125,  146,  147,  148, 

149,  150,  166,  223,  299,  407,  408,  473,  553 
Conation,  232,  247,  261,  401,  402,  412,  498, 

547 
Conative  causes,  94,  95,  97,  137, 156 

—  faculty,  136 
Conception,  461 

Conceptions,  concepts,  461,  504,  505 
Concrete  vs.  abstract  sciences,  69 
Condorcet,  Marie  Jean  Antoine,  35,  56, 
212,  224,  298,  349,  367,  395,  407,  410,  568 

,  quoted,  163,  299,  350,  386,  387 

Confarreation,  356 


Confusion  of  ideas,  129,  138,  140,  181,  264, 

412,  413,  472, 473 
Congreve,  Richard,  67 
Coniferae,  74, 113 
Conjugal  infelicity,  400,  404,  409,  410 

—  love,  378,  403,  453 

,  Modern  origin  of,  405 

Conjugation,  205,  310 

Conjuncture  of  races,  89, 198,  213,  518 

Conquest  and  subjugation,  30,  204,  205, 

212,  215,  236,  239,  267,  273,  276,  360,  361, 
376,  438,  446,  548,  567 

—  of  man,  556 

nature,  511,  544,  547,  555 

Consanguineal  forces,  187,  258,  261,  262, 
263 

—  love,  378,  413,  415,  427 
Consciousness,  119,  122,  123, 124,  126,  141, 

156, 176 
— ,  Double  and  multiple,  122 

—  of  kind,  158,  415 
— ,  Social,  91 

— ,  States  vs.  acts  of,  461 

Conservation  of  energy,  99,  136,  141,  161, 

165,  166,  173,  176,  255,  531,  539 
Conservatism,  183,  226,  227,  230,  252,  324, 

449,  526,  545 
Constellations,  52 

Construction,  169,  171, 174,  184,  222,  266 
Consumption,  282 
Continuity  of  the  germ-plasm,  572 
social  germ-plasm,  33,   34,  214, 

520,  572,  573 

— ,  Social,  28,  31,  32,  34,  95 
Contradiction,  Law  of,  57 
Control  of  the  dynamic  agent,  462 
Cook,  Captain  James,  286,  445 
Cook,  George  Willis,  87 
Cooke,  William  Fothergill,  523 
Cooking,  285,  288 

Cope,  Edward  Drinker,  118,  241,  333 
Copernicus,  Nicolas,  507,  533 
Copper,  Early  use  of,  19,  513 
Cordaitales,  74 
Cordaites,  77 
Cormus,  100 
Corrosive  sublimate,  91 
Cosmic  day,  38,  40 
,  Dial  of  the,  40 

—  dualism,  172 
Cosmical  crises,  93,  334 
Cosmogonies,  506 

Cosmological  perspective,  38,  39,  40 
Cosmology,  504,  505,  508,  531 
Cosmopolitanism,  428 

Cosmos,  93,  504 

Coste,  Adolphe,  238,  245 

Country,  211 

— ,  Love  of,  211,  212,  428 

Cournot,  Augustin,  7,  48,  145 


INDEX 


583 


Court,  The,  as  a  social  structure,  187 

Couvade,  200,  213,  343,  344 

Couzins,  Phebe,  297 

Cradle  of  the  race,  198,  202,  218 

Cranesbill,  190 

Creation,  81,  88,  90,  174,  237,  266,  441,  462 

— ,  Esthetic,  433,  434,  490,  494 

— ,  Genetic,  89,  92,  433 

— ,  Intellectual,  439,  441 

— ,  Subjective  vs.  objective,  495,  496 

Creative  genius,  82,  88,  295,  495 

—  synthesis,  79,  98,  99,  119, 124, 125, 127, 

130,  135,  170,  441,  558 
Cretaceous  period,  39,  40,  75 
Crewe,  Earl  of,  561 
Crime,  54,  55,  135,  324,  556,  558 
— ,  Artificial,  387 
Croly,  Jane,  297 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  555 
Cross  fertilization,  78,  233,  234,  235,  273, 

308,  319,  432,  510 

-  of  cultures,  205,  231,  235,  237,  247, 

252,  273,  357,  361,  391,  416,  427, 498,  511, 

531 

ideas,  235,  237,  504 

Crossing  of  strains,  205,  214,  215,  232,  234, 

235,  308,  322,  324,  325,  357,  358,  373,  379, 

406 

Crowds,  Philosophy  of,  92 
Crusades,  396,  533 
Crustacean  structure,  125,  226 
Cryptogams,  318 
Crystalloid  form  of  matter,  120 
Ctesibius,  519 
Cueva,  338 

Culture,  18,  92,  95,  235,  264.  513 
Cunning,  25,  196,  341,484-490, 513,  514,  524 
"  Curiosities,"  506,  507 
Curiosity,  108,  430,  445 
Curtis,  Winterton  C.,  310 
Cusa,  Nicolaus  de,  533,  534 
Cut-off,  Principle  of  the,  170 
Cuvier,  Georges,  quoted,  508,  509 
Cycadaceae,  75,  318,  319 
Cycas  revoluta,  75,  319 
Cycles,  Astronomical,  527 
— ,  Social,  373,  396 
Cytodes,  100 
Czechs,  214 

Daguerre,  Louis  Jacques,  523 

Dahomans,  338 

Dallemagne,  J.,  65 

Dal  ton,  John,  541 

Dante  Alighieri,  400 

Darwin,  Charles,  45, 109, 132,  184, 195, 199, 

241,  315,  316,  327,  332,  363,445,  483,  500, 

546 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  286,  287,  314,  350,  361,  362 
— ,  — ,  the  Newton  of  biology,  541 


Darwin,  Erasmus,  537,  542 

— ,  Francis,  314 

Darwinians,  500 

Dasah,  37 

Daughter-cells,  313 

Davidson,  Robert,  540 

Davy,  Sir  Humphry,  523,  536,  537 

Death  not  feared  by  animals,  131 

Decadence,  Social,  228-231 

Deception,  157,484-490 

Decimal  system,  26,  519,  528 

De  Foe,  Daniel,  269 

De  Geer,  C.,  327 

Degeneracy,  162,  356,  358,  448 

— ,  Parasitic,  228,  429 

Degeneration,  Race  and  national,  79,  227, 

228,229 
— ,  Social,  227 
De  Greef ,  Guillaume,  65,  213,  356 

,  — ,  quoted,  553,  554 

Democracy,  566 
Democritus,  171,  505,  531 
Demolins,  Edmond,  231,  567 
Demosthenes,  191 
Denis,  Hector,  65,  66 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,  152 
Derivative  faculties,  494 

—  social  forces,  263,  378,  379 

—  words,  190,  191 

Descartes,  Rene',  27,  42,  140,  253,  508,  521, 

534,  539 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  138, 139 
Descent,  Doctrine  of,  537, 542 
Description  of  social  facts,  14 
Desire,  Philosophy  of,  33,  34,  103-110,  137, 

142,  143,  248-259,  282,  404,  464 
Desperadoes,  557 
Determinism,  151-155 
Devonian  period,  39,  40,  75,  76,  113,  478 
De  Vries,  Hugo,  243,  499 
Dialectics,  526 
Diastole,  107 
Dichogamy,  233 
Dicotyledons,  113 
Diede,  Charlotte,  400 
Difference  of  potential,  231,  232,  242,  282, 

308,  309,  323,  356,  379,  498,  527 
Differential  attributes,  94-99, 116, 128, 135, 

141,334 

—  processes,  222 
Differentiation,  203,  225,  565 

— ,  Social,  199,  202,  217-219,  260,  266,  427, 

446,  491,  518,  565 
Digger,  The,  a  primitive  implement,  515, 

518 

Digits,  Reduction  of,  471 
Dilthey,  W.,  47 
Diminishing  returns,  Psychological,  160 

,  Social,  225 

Dinosaurs,  76,  77,  470 


584 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Dicecism,  233,  318-320 

Diology,  69 

Dionsea,  141 

Dioscorides,  506 

Diplomacy,  488,  490 

Diplozoon  paradoxum,  315 

Directive  agent,  97, 457,  463, 465, 466,  471, 

481,  482,  511,  544,  569 
Disadvantageous   vs.    noil-advantageous, 

500,  501 

Discontent,  104,  452 
Discontinuity,  123 
Discovery,  Scientific,  294,  506,  525,  555, 

568 

Discrete  degrees,  94,  95 
Disease,  105 

—  germs,  110 

Dissolution,  173,  220,  227,  228 
Distaff,  519 
Distribution,  Age  of,  522 

— ,  Economic,  280,  571 

— ,  Social,  280,  571 

Division,  Reproduction  by,  205,  305,  310 

—  of  labor,  14,  192,  275,  277 
Divorce,  398,  407 
Dodecatheon,  190 

Domestication  of  animals,  61,  157,  198, 

486,  502,  503,  510 
Donisthorpe,  W.,  26 
Don  Quixote,  394 
Drama,  Greek,  532 
Draper,  John  William,  528 

— , ,  quoted,  527 

Dress,  Evolution  of,  286 

Drones,  317 

Drosera,  141 

Drury,  R.,  349 

Dualism,  Biological,  179 

— ,  Cosmic,  172 

— ,  Ethical,  187,  262,  421,  426,  453 

—  of  institutions,  192 
— ,  Sexual,  233 

— ,  Social,  212 

—  vs.  monism,  172 

Du  Bois-Reymond,  Emil,  quoted,  515,  516, 

525, 526 

Du  Chaillu,  Paul  Belloni,  349 
Duncan,  George  Martin,  quoted,  535 
Durkheim,  Emile,  80,  200,  213,  238,  274, 

370,  483 

Dust,  Rate  of  accumulation  of,  23 
Duty,  Primitive  meaning  of,  420 
Dyaks,  338 
Dynamic  action,  246-250,  254,  282, 283, 323 

—  agent,  97,  111,  137,  145,  169,  221,  253, 
256,  438,  445,  457,  459,  462,  463,  465,  511 

,  Control  of  the,  462 

—  principles,  180, 182,  231,  268,  302,  308, 
309,  379,  401,  405,  416,  449, 463,  465, 498, 
511 


Dynamic  sciences,  283,  542 

— ,  Uses  of  the  term,  96,  97,  98,  221,  238 

—  vs.  kinetic,  98,  222 
Dynamics,  98,  164,  168 
— ,  Biological,  542 
—.Social,  168,  221,402 

—  vs.  statics,  221,  222 
Dynamids,  171 

Earth,  Age  of  the,  38,  39,  40, 116 

— ,  History  of  the,  113, 115 

Earthquakes,  109,  110 

Ebn  Junis,  520,  533 

Eburna  spirata,  155 

Ecclesiastical  institutions,  134,  185,  186, 

356,  496 

Eclipses,  527,  528,  529 
Economic  man,  48,  471 
Economics  as  a  special  social  science,  15 
— ,  Biologic,  324,  469 
— ,  Dynamic,  283 
— ,  Psychologic  basis  of,  471 
— ,  Pure,  145 
— ,  Subjective,  283 
— ,  Transcendental,  283 
Economy  essentially  telic,  88 

—  of  nature,  244,  324,  469,  470,  525 
Ectoderm,  100 

— ,  Social,  274 

Edgeworth,  F.  Y.,  quoted,  151 

Edinger,  L.,  437 

Education,  Inadequacy  of  the  prevalent, 

194,  195 

— ,  Need  of  method  in,  45,  46 
— ,  Socialization  of,  575 
— ,  State,  574 

— ,  The  drift  toward,  574,  575 
Efficient  causes,  94,  95,  97,  156,  466-468 
Effort,  Philosophy  of,  138,  142,  161-163, 

232,  252,  261,  278 
— ,  Social,  247 
Ego,  The  social,  548 
Egoism,  425 
— ,  Reflex,  424 
Egoistic  basis  of  altruism,  424 

—  reason,  360,  424,  464,  479,  480,  512 

—  social  forces,  264 
Ejects,  423 

— ,  Objective,  433 

— ,  Subjective,  424 

Electric  lighting,  Invention  of,  523 

Electricity,  Age  of,  522,  536 

— ,  History  of  discovery  in,  42,  522,  525, 

531,  536,  540 

— ,  Utilization  of,  18, 110,  523 
Electrology,  48 
Eleonora  of  Este,  400 
Elimination  of  the  wayward,  132, 133,  335 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  369,  453 
Ellis,  Havelock,  295,  517 


INDEX 


585 


Ellis,  Havelock,  quoted,  299,485 

— ,  William,  286 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  quoted,  87,  442 

Emotional  forces,  258 

Emotions,  101,  102,  138-141,  176,  262,  438, 

473 

— ,  Historical  development  of  the,  391-395 
— ,  Localization  of  the,  263 
— ,  Seat  of  the,  138,  390 
Empedocles,  505,  531 
Empiricism,  512,  513,  525,  526,  568,  574 
Eudoderm,  100 
— ,  Social,  274 
Energy,  Maximal,  161 
— ,  Natural  storage  of,  174, 178 
— ,  Potential  vs.  kinetic,  98,  232,  234 
— ,  Psychic  or  spiritual,  167 
— ,  Social,  32,  108, 110,  165, 169 
— ,  Surplus,  243,  244,  446,  502,  510,  526 

—  vs.  force,  165,  166, 174,  208 

synergy,  171,  231,  236 

Engraving,  Invention  of,  521 
Ennui,  129,  245,  404 

Environment  as  a  factor  in  evolution, 

178, 180,  235 

— ,  Knowledge  of  the,  460,  506 
— ,  Resistance  of  the,  178,  511 
— ,  Subjective,  58 
— ,  Transformation  of  the,  16,  21,  248-255, 

277,  283,  402,  403,  512,  544 
Eocene  period,  39 
Eohippus,  471 
Epicurus,  531 

Epiphenomena,  128,  331,  416,  476 
Equilibration,  Cosmic,  175, 180,  222 
— ,  Organic,  180 

— ,  Social,  184,  212,  215,  225,  276,  402,  446 
Equilibrium,  163,  175,  222 
— ,  Moving,  223,  230,  236.  269,  282 
— ,  Psychic,  159,  402 
— ,  Social,  212,  221,  223,  232,  236,  240,  247, 

526 

Equisetum,  74 
Erect  posture,  199,  302 
Erinaceidae,  318 
Error,  464,  505,  506,  525 
Erskine,  J.  E.,  286 
Espinas,  Alfred,  21,  330 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  519 
Esquimaux,  229 

Essential  social  forces,  258-260,  283,  418 
Establishment  of  the  science  of  sociology,  8 
Esthetic  creation,  433,  434,  490,  494 

—  faculty,  325-329,  334,  360,  361,  375,  376, 
432,  433,  495 

—  forces,  258-264,417,  418,  430,  431 

— ,  General  tendency  toward  the,  284-286, 
411,412,431,437 

—  vs.  practical,  437 
Esthetics,  433,  457 


Ether,  93,  94,  97,  534-536 

Ethical  dualism,  187,  262,  421,  426,  453 

—  monism,  430 

Ethics,  Absolute,  420,  421 
— ,  Animal,  482 

—  based  on  feeling,  139, 460 

— ,  Contraction  of  the  field  of,  88,  135,  430 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  69 

— ,  Primitive,  134,  187,  483 

Ethnographic  parallels,  53,  343,  515 

Euclid,  505,  531,  532 

Euler,  Leonhard,  536,  540 

Evil,  Origin  and  meaning  of,  131,  421,  454 

Eupatorium,  241,  501 

Evolution,  21,  71-74,  85,  111,  112,  124,  170, 

229,  231,  259,  302,  309,  463,  505,  543,  545 
— ,  Cosmic  vs.  organic,  40 
— ,  Organic  vs.  social,  40 
— ,  Social,  40,  79,  142,  448-450,  462,  463, 

471,  544,  547 

—  vs.  revolution,  222,  223,  268 
Exaggeration  of  effects,  469,  551 
Exercise,  Lamarckian  principle  of,  180, 

215,  253,  268,  395,  401,  499,  500 
Exogamy,  201,  210,  234,  235,  357 
Experimentation,  509,  525,  527 
Exploitation,  267,  485-490,  511,  556 
Extra-normal  phenomena,  308,  334,  476 
Extra-organic  development,  17,  253 
Eyre,  Edward  John,  348,  392 

Facial  angle,  333 

Factory,  Origin  of  the,  471,  522 

Faculties,  Exercise  of  the,  129,  130,  245, 

289,  438,  566 
Faint  series  of  psychic  phenomena,  137, 

428,  433 
Faith,  303 
— ,  Scientific,  6 
Fall  line  of  rivers,  59 
Fall  of  man,  384 
Fallacy  of  the  stationary,  183 
Falling  in  love,  396,  398,  399 
Family,  The,  186,  199,  200,  351,  376 
Faraday,  Michael,  540 
Fashion,  286,  503 
Fatalism,  109,  110 
Favored  races,  33,  470,  511 
Fecundation,  200,  325,  384 
— ,  Social,  211,  273 
Fecundity,  288,  368 
— ,  Emblems  of,  383,  384 
Feeling,  All,  primarily  intensive,  102 

—  as  a  force,  101, 102,  136, 137,  142 
an  end,  126, 129,  136,  284,  285,  358, 

464 

a  property,  94,  97,  99,  119,  136 

— ,  Concealment  of,  157,  256,  257,  488 
— ,  Ethics  based  on,  13!),  460 
— ,  Evolution  of,  93,  127,  136 


586 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


Feeling,  Ideo-motor,  473,  474 

—  in  its  relations  to  function,  124,  127- 
136,  261,  265,  285,  383, 419,  464 

— ,  internal  vs.  external,  473 

— ,  Language  of,  256,  257 

— ,  Purpose  of,  121,  122,  124, 126, 130,  141 

— ,  Restraints  to,  132,  169,  249,  419 

—  the  irreducible  element  of  mind,  120 
— ,  Unconscious,  122 

—  vs.  thought,  457 

Female  courage,  330,  331,  414 

—  efflorescence,  364 

— ,  Etymology  of  the  word,  365,  368 
— ,  Life  begins  as,  313 

—  passivity,  325 

—  stability,  322,  323,  325,  335 

—  superiority,  315-323,  327,  364 

—  supremacy,  328,  330,  335-338,  345,  376 
— ,  The,  forms  the  main  trunk  of  the  race, 

314,  322,  323,  325,  326 
Ferguson,  Adam,  56,  140 
Ferrero,  G.,  485 
Fertilization,  205,  306,  307,  312-317,  325, 

328,  340,  373-379 
Feudalism,  275,  278,  289,  394 
Feuds,  556,  557 
Feuerbach  family,  498 
Fiction,  Truth  in,  396,  414,  415 
Fictions  of  primitive  races,  200,  213,  342, 

357,  396,  462 
Fiefs,  Feudal,  275 
Filiation,  65,  101,195 
Filipinos,  451 

Final  cause,  95,  97,  466,  482 
Finck,  Henry  T.,  392 
Fire,  Art  of  making,  198,  491,  515,  516, 

524 

— ,  Nature  of,  537 
First  cause,  136 

—  pair,  198,  200 

Fishing  tackle,  Primitive,  516 

Fission,  305 

Fixed  stars,  527,  539 

Fool's  puzzles,  21,  159,  494 

Fontenelle,  Bernard,  56 

Force,  Centers  of,  171 

— ,  Formula  for,  165, 171 

— ,  Nature  of,  171,  534 

Forces,  Composition  of,  164 

— ,  Correlation  of,  99 

— ,  Parallelogram  of,  164 

Forks,  Invention  of,  521 

Formation  of  a  people,  208 

Forsyth-Major,  C.  I.,  332 

Fortuitous  variation,  240-242,  253, 480-501 

Francillon,  R.  E.,  quoted,  295 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  516,  536 

Fraser,  J.  B.,  349 

Frederick  the  Great,  367 

Free  will,  57, 152,  153,  304 


Froude,  James  Anthony,  47 

Fuegians,  229,  338,  445 

Fuller,  Tom,  37 

Function,  Claims  of,  284,  358,  419 

— ,  Language  of,  256-258 

—  static,  232,  308 

— ,  Structure  vs.,  15,  180 
— ,  True  meaning  of,  175 
Furies,  369 

Galaxy,  52 

Galileo  Galilei,  500,  507,  521,  534,  539 

Galen,  Claudius,  507,  533 

Galton,  Francis,  27,  28,  36,  37, 54, 294,  383, 

493,500 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  287,  442,  449,  450 
Galvani,  Luigi,  42,  536 
Ganoid  fishes,  76 

Gases,  Nature  and  behavior  of,  110,  535 
Gauss,  Karl  Friedrich,  498 
Gay-Lussac,  Joseph  Louis,  537 
Geddes,  Patrick,  315 
Gemmation,  260,  306 
Gemmules,  311 
Geneclexis,  361 
Generalization  as  the  method  of  science, 

48,  59,  145, 161, 164,  543 
— ,  Principle  of,  53,  441 
— ,  Process  of,  442,  462,  492,  541 

—  vs.  abstract  reasoning,  441,  505 
Genesis,  63,  89 

—  of  mind,  475 

—  simulates  telesis,  114 
— ,  Social,  463,  545 

Genetic  phenomena,  viii,  222,  458,  465, 

475,  544,  547,  555 
Genius,  36,  493 
— ,  Biologic  homologue  of,  37 
— ,  Creative,  82,  88,  295,  495 
— ,  Hereditary,  36,  500 
— ,  Inventive,  88,  295,  494 

—  not  specialized,  498,  499,  502 
— ,  Origin  of,  493 

— ,  Philosophic,  496 

— ,  Potential,  37 

— ,  Scientific,  508 

— ,  Speculative,  296 

Gens,  193,  201,  390 

Geocentric  theory,  302,  332,  549 

Geoffrey  Saint-Hilaire,  Etienne,  73 

Geographical  distribution,  180 

Geologic  periods,  Duration  of,  39 

—  time,  38-40 

Geology,  Early  cultivation  of,  507,  537 

— ,  Method  of,  509 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  67-69 

— ,  Prevailing  ignorance  of,  195 

— ,  Social  value  of,  110 

Geometry,  497,  505,  532 

— ,  Non-Euclidian,  539 


INDEX 


587 


George  Eliot,  84 
George, Henry,  23 
George  Sand,  295 
Geranium  maculatum,  190 
Gerland,  Georg,  203 
Germ  cell  formation,  306 

—  cells,  306,  312,  314,  385,  386 
Germ-plasm,  328 

— ,  Continuity  of  the,  572 

— ,  Frailty  of  the,  572 

— ,  Immortality  of  the,  572 

— ,  Social,  33,  34,  214,  520,  572,  573 

Gesner,  Konrad,  507 

Gesture  language,  26,  190 

Gibbon,  Edward,  535 

Gibbon,  The,  333 

Giddings,  Franklin  H.,  quoted,  560 

Gilbert,  William,  534 

Ginkgo,  75 

Ginkgoaceae,  318 

Glacial  period,  39,  40 

Glass,  First  use  of,  517 

Gnetaceae,  74 

Gnomon,  527,  528 

God  in  history,  56 

Goethe,  Wolfgang,  37,  73,  143,  147,  179, 

303,  323,  400,  449,  537,  542 
Good,  The,  88,  131,  261,  418,  421 
Gorgons,  369 
Gorilla,  333 
Gospel  of  action,  21,  39 

inaction,  20, 143 

Gossen,  Hermann  Heinrich,  7,  48, 144,  567 
Gossenian  law  of  economics,  567 
Gould,  George  M.,  380,  384 
Government  a  condition  to  achievement, 

31 

—  always  as  good  as  the  people  want, 
553-555 

— ~,  Biologic  homologue  of,  564,  565 

— ,  Forms  of,  54,  524,  566 

— ,  Primitive  germ  of,  134,  419,  548 

—  produce  export  depot  of  South  Aus- 
tralia, 563,  571 

— ,  Theoretical  future  disappearance  of, 
135 

—  vs.  the  state,  188 

Governor  of  the  steam  engine,  170 

Gowland,  W.,  530 

Gracian,  Lorenzo,  37 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  38 

Grafts,  232 

Graham,  Sir  James,  570 

Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  38 

Graphite,  113 

Gravitant  forces,  173 

Gravitation,  18,  170,  172,  534-536,  539,  541 

Gray,  Asa,  quoted,  233,  309 

Greatest  gain,  Law  of,  59,  (JO,  161,  162,  570 

Gregariousness,  200,  548,  556 


Group  instinct  or  sense  of  safety,  134, 185, 
187,  356,  405,  419,  464,  501,  506,  548,  556 
Growth  of  collectivism,  558 

—  static,  182,  221,  232,  308 

—  vs.  manufacture,  465,  466 

reproduction,  259,  305-307 

Growth-force,  119,  136,  178,  245,  502 
Guericke,  Otto,  522 

Guizot,  Fran9ois  Pierre  Guillaume,  368, 

394,  396,  452 
Gumplowicz,  Ludwig,  30,  32,  76,  189,  203, 

213 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  5,  302,  365,  552 
Gun-cotton,  Invention  of,  523 
Gunpowder,  Invention  of,  521 
Gunton,  George,  quoted,  570,  571 
Gustatory  forces,  258 
Guyot,  Yves,  quoted,  19,  20 
Gymnospermae,  gymnosperms,  70,  319 
Gynaecarchy,  328,-336 
Gynaecocentric  theory,  The,  291,  296 

,  History  of,  297 

,  Recapitulation  of,  373 

Gynsecocracy,  336,  344-351,  376,  394,  415, 

448 

— ,  Demetric,  339 

Gynandrocratic  stage  of  society,  373 
Gyneclexis,  361,  372,  396,  401,  431 

Haeckel,  Ernst,  38,  39,   45,  116,  136,  198, 

199,  310,  318,  384,  416 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  290,  305,  385,  414 
Hallam,  Henry,  517,  518 
Hamilton,  Sir  William,  57,  128,  458,  472, 

496 

— ,  —  William  Rowan,  quoted,  441 
Hamm,  Louis,  537 
Handel,  George  Frederick,  498 
Happiness  denned,  104,  106,  131, 163,  249, 

286 

—  the  end  of  effort,  163,  283,  402 

—  vs.  progress,  430,  431 

virtue,  131 

Harems,  Social  effect  of,  355 
Hartmann,  Edward,  106, 123,  252 
Hartley,  David,  quoted,  153 
Harvey,  William,  139,  521,  534 
Hate,  103,  416,  430 
Hawkmoth,  155 

Hawks,  317 

Hazing,  451 

Head  hunting,  204 

Health,  Enjoyment  of,  105, 106 

Heart,  The  emotional,  262 

Heat,  Nature  of,  18,  535,  536,  540,  541 

— ,  Internal,  of  the  earth,  478 

Hebrew  cosmogony,  384 

—  literature,  366,  428 
Hebrews,  204,  428,  451 
Hedgehog,  318 


588 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


Hedonism,  Paradox  of,  129 

Hegel,  Geofg  Wilhelm  Friedrich,  136,  472 

Hegelian  trilogy,  175 

Heliocentric  system  or  theory,  302,  531- 

533,541 
Heliology,  69 
Helmholtz,  Hermann  Ludwig  Ferdinand, 

160,  165,  540 
Heloise,  400 
Helvetius,  Claude  Adrien,  42,  448 

— , ,  quoted,  447 

Hemp  plant,  320,  321 

Henry,  Joseph,  523,  540 

Heraclitus,  505,  531 

Herbaria,  Ancient,  542 

Herbart,  Johann  Friedrich,  151, 171 

Herder,  Johann  Gottfried,  34 

Heredity,  Law  of,  326 

— ,  Social,  34,  247,  573 

— ,  The  bearers  of,  311,  572 

— ,  Units  of,  543 

Hermaphroditism,  233,  313-315,  318-320, 

327,  356,  373 
Hero,  532 

Hero's  engine,  519,  522 
Herodotus,  88,  191 
Hertwig,  Richard,  quoted,  309 
Hertz,  Heinrich  R.,  540 
Hesperology,  69 
Hetairism,  339 
Heterandria  formosa,  317 
Heterogeneity,  Primitive,  of  races,  32,  76, 

193-195,  201,  202,  205,  206,  266,  275,  281 
Hierarchy  of  the  sciences,  46,  65,  90,  96, 

195,  527 

Hieroglyphics,  191 
High  schools,  574 
Hinge,  The,  known  to  the  ancient  Greeks, 

519 

Hirase,  S.,  319 
Histology,  543 
— ,  Social,  274 

Historic  period,  Length  of  the,  38,  40 
Historical  determinism,  56 

—  materialism,  20,  251,  289 

—  perspective,  56 

—  races,  30,  33,  225,  238,  393,  401,  436, 447, 
572 

—  school  of  economists,  47,  49 
History  as  a  special  social  science,  15 

—  of  civilization,  18 

—  only  repetition,  55 

—  past  politics,  448 

— ,  Philosophy  of,  13,  14,  56-58 

—  presents  a  chaos,  62 
— ,  Scientific,  20 
Hobbes,  Thomas,  56,  508 
Holmes,  William  H.,  216,  219 

— , ,  quoted,  217-219 

Homer,  191,  ."55,  386,  393,  518 


Hominidse,  217 

Homo,  199,  217,  218,  229 

—  Neanderthalensis,  333 
Homosimius,  333 

—  Bourgeoisii,  333 

—  Ramesii,  334 

—  Ribeiroi,  334 

Hooke,  Robert,  522,  534,  535,  536 

Horace,  393 

Horde,  200,  213,  266,  273,  274,  390,  415, 421, 

427,548 

Horning,  The,  a  survival,  357 
Horse,  Phylogeny  of  the,  471 
Horses,  Psychic  attributes  of,  157-159,  480 
Horsetails,  73 
Hortensius,  356 
Hottentots,  362 
Houyhnhnm,  188 
Howard,  L.  O.,  quoted,  316,  317 
Howells,  W.  D.,  83 
Huggins,  William,  540 
Hugo,  Victor,  84,  414 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  415 
Hultsch,  Friedrich  Otto,  519 
Human  attributes,  Exclusively,  263,  264, 

415,  418,  432,  515 

—  institutions,  31,  185,  214,  225,  236,  419, 
463 

—  invention,  514 

—  nature,  140,  257,  276 

—  period,  38-40 
Humanitarianism,  212,  429,  450 
Humanity  as  an  object  of  worship,  380 
Humboldt,    Alexander  von,   27,   38,   109, 

143,  400,  435,  499,  520,  528,  533 

— , ,  quoted,  109,  529 

— ,  Wilhelm,  499 

Hume,  David,  56,  140 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  153 

Hunger  and  love,  41,  107,  137,  146,  256, 

377 

—  forces,  256,  261,  264 

Huxley,  Thomas  H.,  21,  45,  95,  116,  123, 

199,  315,  469,  508,  509,  535 

— , ,  quoted,  143,  371 

Huyghens,  Christian,  166,  533-536 

Hybridization,  90,  215,  237 

Hydrodynamics,  168 

Hydrogen,  115 

Hydrostatics,  168 

Hylozoism,  119,  136, 141 

Hypocrisy,  Universality  of,  92,  264,  381, 

386,397 

Ibn  Khaldun,  56,  508 
Wants,  Social,  208 
Idea  forces,  472 
Ideal  mean,  397,  398 

Ideals,  Esthetic,  82,  83,  88,  286,  402,  433, 
434,  496 


INDEX 


589 


Ideals,  Social,  4,  83,  452 

Ideas,  504,  505,  526 

— ,  Cross  fertilization  of,  235,  237,  504 

—  rule  the  world,  473 
Ideation,  462 

Ide'e  fixe,  12,  37 

Ide'es-forces,  472 

Identity,  439,  462 

Ideo-motor  actions,  474 

Idyllic  stage  of  society,  201,  202,  213,  284 

Ikeno,  S.,  319 

lies,  George,  516,  538 

Iliad,  519 

Illuminating  gas,  Invention  of,  523 

Illusion  of  the  near,  49,  50,  151,  201,  297, 

448,554 

— ,  The  biological,  304 
— ,  —  optimistic,  417 
Illusions  of  nature,  525 
Imagination,  82,  88,  176,  433,  462, 490, 496, 

504 
— ,  Scientific,  89 

—  vs.  imitation,  82,  83,  432,  433,  490 
Imitation  as  a  social  factor,  25,  225,  246, 

247 
— ,  Faculty  of,  196,  432,  514 

—  of  nature,  5,  434,  435 
— ,  Protective,  502,  503 
— ,  Sociology  as,  14 

—  vs.  imagination,  82,  83,  432,  433,  490 
Immaculate  conception,  200 
Immortality  of  the  germ-plasm,  572 
— ,  The  real,  43 

Imohagh,  338 

Impact  theory  of  force,  171,  466 

Imperatives,   137,  187,  302,  324,  358,  359, 

405,  406,  419 

Imperatus  (Ferrante  Imperato),  507 
Imperfection  of  all  natural  products,  81, 

82,469 

Impressions,  Psychologic,  460 
Improvements  vs.  inventions,  183,  221,  516 
Impulse,  155-157,  243,  247 
Inaudi,  37 
Incest,  234,  235 

Inculcation,  Mental  stage  of,  438,  443,  444 
India  rubber,  Invention  of,  570 
Indians,  North  American,  81, 270,  339,556, 

566 
Indifferent  sensation,  121,  423,  458-460, 

477 

Indirection,  157,  463,  470,  481 
— ,  Material,  489 
— ,  Moral,  483 
Individual,  What  constitutes  an,  233,  318, 

320 

—  morality,  418,  419,  420,  422 

—  telesis,  545 

Individualism,  33,  546,  551,  566 
— ,  Growth  of,  567 


Individualism  vs.  collectivism,  567 
Inducement  vs.  compulsion,  108,  569,  570 
Industrial  institutions,  192 

—  systems,  30 
Industrialism,  272,  281 
Industry,  Conditions  to,  277,  550 
— ,  Origin  of,  41, 185,  209 
Inequalities,  Natural,  35,  206,  207,  244, 

281,  282 

— ,  Social,  244,  289 
Inequality,  205,  206,  215,  267 
Infanticide,  382 
Infinite,  The,  430 
Infinity,  497 
Ingenuity,  490 
Innocent  VIII,  Pope,  364 
Innovation,  232,  240,  252,  253,  261,  498, 

499,  510 
Inorganic  compounds,  53,  90,  94,  95 

—  matter,  112,  120 
Insectivorous  plants,  141 
Inspiration,  441-443 
Instability,  Chemical,  118,  120 

—  of  the  homogeneous,  159,  230,  469 
— ,  Social,  229 

Instinct  based  on  reason,  480 

—  converts  means  into  ends,  133,  414, 467, 

468 

—  of  sportsmanship,  129 

workmanship,  129,  245,  270,  438,  513 

— ,  passions  erroneously  so  called,  155, 

412,  413 

— ,  Purpose  of,  132,  134,  335,  419,  422 
— ,  Social,  133,  134 
Institor,  Heinrich,  365 
Institution,  Definition  of  an,  192 

—  vs.  evolution,  545 
Institutions,  Abolition  of,  268 
— ,  Ceremonial,  185,  186 

— ,  Classification  of,  186 

— ,  Dualism  of,  192 

— ,  Ecclesiastical,  134,  185,  186,  356,  496 

— ,  Human,  31,   185,  214,  225,  236,  419, 

463 

— ,  Industrial,  192 
— ,  Juridical,  185 
— ,  Natural  origin  of,  268 
— ,  Political,  185,  188 
— ,  Transformation  of,  31 

—  vs.  structures,  186,  192 
Integration,  Organic,  203,  225,  565 

— ,  Social,  202,  217-219,  266,  267,  427,  446, 

564,565 

Intellect  an  advantageous  faculty,  475 
egoistic  servant    of    the  will,  335, 

350,  464,  476,  501,  550 

—  not  a  force  but  a  factor,  448,  468,  474 
— ,  Recent  origin  of,  101,  143,  476 

— ,  The  original  vs.   the  derivative,  476, 
497 


590 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


Intellectual  equality  of  all  men,  447,  448 

—  forces,  258-264,  417,  418,  437 

—  philosophy,  458 

—  progress,  454 

Intelligence,  52,  101,   124,  128,  188,  303, 

418 

— ,  Animal,  514 
Intelligible  character,  42, 153 
Intemperance,  288 
Intensive  activity,  51,  173,  208 

—  sensation,  102,  121,  122,  129,  137,  423, 
458,  477 

Interbreeding,  235,  356 

Interest,  Philosophy  of,  21,  34,  41,  60,  61, 
108,  121,  127,  140,  142,  208,  252,311,323, 
325,  379,  436,  438,  443,  444,  460,  471, 
545 

—  unites,  principle  divides,  208,  276 
Interjection,  188,  190 
Internuncial  system,  523 
Intuition,  477,492,514 

—  vs.  investigation,  512 
— ,  Woman's,  295,  415,  481 
Invention,  Accidental,  516 
— ,  Animal,  514 

—  as  a  branch  of  education,  495 

an  intellectual  passion,  491,  492 

— ,  Effects  of,  on  civilization,  524 

— ,  Human,  514 

— ,  Philosophy  of,  26,  28-30,  89,  196,  203, 

221,  243,  246,  294,  490,  512,  555 
— ,  Primitive,  198,  352,  490,  491,  514,  515- 

517 

— ,  Social,  547,  568 
Inventive  faculty,  The,  196,  197,  294,  511 

—  genius,  88,  295,  494 
Inventors,  494,  495 
Involution,  229 
Iodine,  Discovery  of,  537 

Iron,  Age  and  early  use  of,  25,  513,  519 

—  law  in  economics,  280,  282,  511 
Irregularity  in  nature,  244,  469,  470 
Irritability,  101,  116 

Isoetes,  86,  87 
Isomerism,  117-119 
Itching,  103 
Ixcuinames,  382 

Jacobi,  Moritz  Hermann,  540 

James,  William,  189,  439 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  155,  156,  303,  442,  445 

Javelin,  The,  a  primitive  weapon,  518 

Jealousy,  103,  328,  411,  416 

Jennie  June,  297 

Jevonian  law  in  economics,  567 

Jevons,  W.  Stanley,  7,  48, 144,  283,  567 

Joan  of  Arc,  369 

Johnson,  Samuel,  quoted,  212,  473 

Joule,  James  Prescott,  165,  536,  540 

Joviology,  69 


Judgment,  461,  462 

— ,  Intuitive,  481    • 

Jumping  bean,  118 

Jupiter,  115,  534 

Jurassic  period,  39,  40,  75-77,  470 

Jurisprudence,  30,  187,  549 

Jussieu,  Antoine,  537 

— ,  Bernard,  537 

— ,  Laurent,  537 

Justice,  Natural,  vs.  civil,  557 

Kaffirs,  349 

Kant,  Immanuel,  36,  42,  56,  93,  129,  153, 

457,  479,  5:35,  536 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  151,  152,  379 
Karyokinesis,  205,  311 
— ,  Social,  205,  208-212,  236,  275,  427 
Keller,  Albert  Galloway,  quoted,  355,  519 
Kelvin,  Lord,  540 
Kentmann,  Johannes,  507 
Kepler,  Johann,  507,  535,  539,  541 
Khasi  Hills,  338 

Kidd,  Benjamin,  27,  28, 134,  288,  419 
Kinesis,  156 

Kinetic  energy,  156,  165, 167 
— '  vs.  dynamic,  98,  222 

potential,  98,  232,  234 

King,  Clarence,  125 

— ,  William,  333 

Kinship  groups,  199-201,  390,  415,  427 

Kirby,  William,  316,  327 

Kirchhoff,  Gustav  Robert,  540 

Kirghis,  353 

Klein,  Balthasar,  507 

Knowledge,  Achievement  consists  in,  34, 

572 

—  is  power,  472,  473 

— ,  Love  of,  263,  438,  439 

—  not  transmissible,  34,  572,  573 

—  of  the  environment,  460,  506 

— ,  The  final  cause  consists  in,  467 
Koossas,  392 

Krafft-Ebing,  R.  von,  388 
Kulturgeschichte,  18 

Lability,  230,  232,  268 

Labor,  28,  270, 513 

— ,  excessive,  Effect  of,  289 

— ,  How  man  learned  to,  271 

— ,  Odium  of,  162,  163,  245 

— ,  static,  246 

— ,  to  what  extent  mental,  29 

La  Bruyere,  Jean  de,  3 

Lady's-slipper,  190 

Lagrange,  Joseph  Louis,  27,  161 

— , ,  quoted,  534 

Laissez  faire,  21,  231,  512,  560 
Lake  dwellers,  518 
Lamarck,  Jean,  73,  180,  541,  542 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  304,  305,  307 


INDEX 


591 


Land,   Property  in,  how  acquired,  274, 

275,  278 
Landscape,  50,  51,  435 

—  painting,  435 

Language,  Arbitrary  character  of,  188, 
190 

—  an  institution,  185, 188-191 

—  as  an  achievement,  25,  26 
— ,  Gesture,  26,  190 

— ,  Heterogeneity  of,  200-203,  206 
— ,  Least  effort  in,  161 
— ,  Spontaneous  origin  of,  188-191 
— ,  Survival  of  the  fittest,  162 

—  vs.  thought,  188,  189 

— ,  Visualization  of,  191,  19J 
— ,  why  teleological,  112 
— ,  Written,  26,  191,  192,  519,  5^1 
Laplace,  Pierre  Simon  de,  93,  449,  527, 
536 

— , ,  quoted,  528 

Lapouge,  G.  V.,  231 
Lasso,  The,  a  primitive  invention,  616 
Lathe,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519 
Latifundia,  275,  567 
Laura  (Noves)  de  Sale,  400 
Laurentian  period,  113,  116 
Lavoisier,  Antoine  Laurent,  537 
Law,  206 

—  as  a  business,  488 

— ,  Origin   of,  30,  205,  206,  275,  276,  281, 

416,  549,  558 
— ,  Primordial  basis  of,  134,  185, 187,  419, 

548 

— ,  Principle  vs.,  169 
— ,  Woman  in  the,  368,  377 
Laws,  Mandatory  and  prohibitory,  570 

—  of  nature,  58,  153,  166,  167,  169,  505, 
525,  526 

— ,  Repeal  of,  560 

Layard,  Sir  Austen  Henry,  517 

Least  action,  Principle  of,  161 

—  effort,  Law  of,  162 
Le  Bon,  G.,  369 

Lecky,  William  Hartpole,  quoted,  560 

Le  Conte,  Joseph,  46,  226 

,  — ,  quoted,  442 

Leeuwenhoek,  Antonius  von,  537 

Legal  regulation,  206,  548,  558 

Legislation,  Alleged  socialistic,  558-564 

— ,  Attractive,  570,  571 

— ,  Penal,  570 

— ,  Sanitary,  560 

Leibnitz,  Gottfried  Wilhelm,  27,  42,  56, 
166,  171,  224,  508,  535,  539. 

Leisure,  Social  value  of,  288,  289,  402 

— ,  class,  Sociological  significance  of  the, 
162,  244,  245,  267,  278,  288,  355,  362,  376, 
383,  446, 454,  485,  502,  504,  511,  526,  531 

Lemmings,  182 

Lens,  Early  use  of  the,  517 


Lepidodendrales,  74 

Lepidophytes,  73,  74,  77 

Lepidoptera,  317 

Letourneau,  Charles,  33,  197,  200, 349,  368, 
370 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  341,  343,  344,  348,  350,  356, 
382,  417,  450,  515,  517 

Leucippus,  531 

Lever  and  fulcrum,  Discovery  of  the  prin- 
ciple of  the,  19,  532 

Levers,  Early  use  of,  516 

Libavius,  Andrea,  507 

Lichtenstein,  Henry,  quoted,  392 

Life  as  a  force,  100,  120, 178,  308 

property,  94 

— ,  Decline  of,  on  the  earth,  220 

— ,  Duration  of,  on  the  globe,  38 

— ,  Essential  attribute  of,  117 

— ,  Increasing  value  of,  453 

— ,  Origin  of,  93,  97,  113,  115,  136,  141, 
307,  478 

— ,  Problem  of,  541,  543 

Life-mitigating  social  forces,  417 

Light,  Aberration  of,  536 

— ,  Discovery  of  the  nature  of,  535,  536, 
540,541 

— ,  Undulatory  theory  of,  535,  536 

Lilienfeld,  Paul  von,  205 

Lilliputians,  50 

Lindley,  John,  73 

Lingula,  78 

Linnaeus,  Carolus,  141,  449,  537,  542 

Lippert,  Julius,  352 

Literature  as  an  achievement,  26,  41 

a  fine  art,  437,  453 

social  structure,  191 

Lloyd,  Henry  D.,  561 

Lock,  The,  known  to  the  ancients,  519 

Locke,  John,  56,  508,  535,  536 

Lockyer,  Sir  Norman,  530,  540 

Locusts,  182 

Loew,  Oscar,  118 

Logarithms,  27 

Logos,  93 

Lombroso,  Cesare,  231,  485 

Loom,  Invention  of  the,  522,  524 

Lost  arts,  29-31 

Lourbet,  Jacques,  quoted,  371 

Love,  Conjugal,  378,  403,  453 

— ,  Consanguineal,  378,  413,  415,  427 

— ,  Correlatives  of,  416 

—  forces,  256,  378 

— ,  Maternal,  212,  262,  378,  412,  424,  427 
— ,  Natural,  378,  379,  408,  427 

—  of  animals,  429 

approbation,  41-43 

country,  211,  212,  428 

nature,  430,  435 

the  helpless,  138,  262,  412,  413,  424 

— ,  One  never  tires  of,  401 


592 


PUKE  SOCIOLOGY 


Love,  Romantic,  262, 378, 390,403,404,408, 

427,453 

— ,  Serious  character  of,  381,  382,  397 
Lubbock,  Sir  John  (Lord  Avebury) ,  229, 

343,  517 

— , ,  quoted,  348 

Lucretius,  56,  532 
Lycopodium,  86,  87 

—  annotinum,  86 

Lyell,  Sir  Charles,  229,  314 
Lynch  law,  359,  360 
Lyre  bird,  432 

McCormack,  Thomas  J.,  515 
Mach,  Ernst,  quoted,  155,  516 
Machiavelli,  Niccolo,  56 
Machinery,  Era  of,  107,  281,  522 
Machinofacture,  26,  32,  279 
McLennan,  John  Ferguson,  300,  339 
Magnetism,  541 
Magnets,  534 

Magnitude,  Relativity  of,  49,  50 
Maidenhair-tree,  75,  319 
Maine,  Sir  Henry  Sumner,  566 

— , ,  quoted,  226,  227 

Male  changeability,  335 

—  efflorescence,  328,  372,  396,  401 

—  fertilizers,  314-317,  320-326,  373-375 

—  sex  an  afterthought  of  nature,  314,  323 
,  Origin  of  the,  313,  373,  374 

—  sexual  selection,  360,  372, 375-377,  399, 
401 

—  superiority,  292,  330,  331,  338 

—  variability,  300,  322 

Males,  Complemental,  parasitic,  pygmy, 
ephemeral,  or  otherwise  inferior,  314, 
315,  322,  323,  326,  363,  373 

Malthus,  Thomas  Robert,  170,  483 

Malthusian  principle,  170,  197,  282,  483 

Mammary  glands,  413 

—  plexuses,  262,  413 
Mammoth  tree,  75,  78 
Man,  Age  of,  39,  201 

— ,  Animal  origin  of,  196,  339,  490 
— ,  Antisocial  nature  of,  556 

—  as  a  product  of  nature,  94,  95 
— ,  Origin  of,  195,  196,  217 

— ,  Precursors  of,  196,  199,  202,  218,  333, 
334,513 

—  the  tool-making  animal,  516 
Mancusis,  344 

Mandatory  laws,  570 

—  pleasures,  130, 138 
Mandril,  332 
Mangiamele,  Vito,  37 

Mankind,  Detestable  or  worthless  charac- 
ter of  the  greater  part  of,  37,  38,  257 
Manouvrier,  L.,  370 
Mantis,  316,  324,  359,  422 

—  Carolina,  316 


Manu,  Code  of,  366 
Manufacture,  522 

—  vs.  growth,  465,  466 
Marcia,  356 

Marginal  advantage,  60,  570 

—  utility,  163,  164 
Mariotte,  Edme,  535 
Marriage,  353 

— ,  Ambiguity  of  the  word,  354 

—  "a  failure, "409 

—  as  a  goal,  403,  404,  407 

—  as  an  institution,  186 

—  by  capture  or  rape,  210,  357,  401 
— ,  Conventional  and  compulsory,  398 
— ,  Economic  basis  of,  352 

— ,  Group,  329 

— ,  Heterogeneity  in  the  forms  of,  337, 339 

— ,  Origin  of  formal,  376 

— ,  Primitive,  341 

— ,  Regulative  function  of,  387 

Mars,  470,  471,  539 

Marsilea,  86,  87 

Martel,  Charles,  533 

Martins,  Charles,  525 

Martiology,  69 

Mason,  Otis  T.,  517 

Mass  as  an  irreducible  category,  165 

Mastodons,  76,  470 

Matches,  Invention  of,  523 

Material  indirection,  489 

Materialism,  47 

— ,  Historical,  20,  251,  289 

Maternal  love,  212,  262,  378,  412,  424,  427 

Mathematical  sociology,  145 

Mathematics,  47 

— ,  Abuse  of,  144-147 

— ,  Application  of,  to  sociology,  6,  7,  48, 

144-147,  151,  164,  166 
— ,  Early  cultivation  of,  505-508 
— ,  Progress  of,  539 
Mathews,  Shailer,  quoted,  408 
Matriarchate  or  matriarchal  family,  300, 

339,  415,  548 

Matriarchy,  200,  339,  340 
— ,  the  basis  of  the  clan,  193 
Matter,  Conscious,  123, 124 

—  dynamic,  20,  32,  254,  255,  468 

— ,  Elementary  state  of,  unknown,  93 

—  is  causality,  19 

—  known  only  by  its  properties,  19 
— ,  Quantity  of,  unchangeable,  136 
— ,  Spiritual  nature  of,  379,  387 
Matthiolus,  Petrus  Andreas,  507 
Mattoids,  398 

Maudsley,  Henry,  quoted,  388 

Maupertuis,  Pierre  Louis,  161 

Maurel,  E.,  288 

Maximal  energy,  Principle  of,  161 

Maxwell,  Clerk,  155,  540 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  255 


INDEX 


593 


Mayer,  Julius  Robert  von,  536,  540 

Meadow  rue,  301 

Mean,  Deviation  from  a,  54 

Means  to  ends,  251,  278,  468 

Mechanics,  163 

— ,  Social,  145,  216,  223,  224 

Mechanisms,  176-182 

Medicine,  Early  study  of,  507 

Medicis,  The,  450 

Meehan,  Thomas,  301 

Meliorism,  144,  429 

Memory,  176 

— ,  Desire  presupposes,  137 

Mendelejeff ,  Dmitrij  Ivanovich,  541 

Mendelssohns,  The,  498 

Mendicants,  Alms-giving  creates,  61 

Mercantile  class,  550 

Mesoderm,  100 

— ,  Social,  274,  567 

Mesology,  20,  58 

Mesozoic  period,  38,  40,  74,  75 

Metabolism,  106,  120, 121,  244,  259,  308 

Metakinesis,  156 

Metals,  Early  use  of  the,  19,  519 

Metamorphosis,  179,  319 

Metaphysics,  Historical  stage  and  mental 

state  of,  379,  381,  504 

—  vs.  psychology,  504 
Metaphyta,  273,  312 
Metasocial  type  and  stage  of  society,  274, 

276,  278,  360,  372,  376,  486,  502,  548,  567 
Metazoa,  100,  266,  273,  310,  312,  318,  478, 

543,  549 

Meteoric  stones,  109 
—  streams,  539 
Meteorology,  47 
Method  of  mind,  469,  525 
nature,  68,  88,  324,  447,  448,  469,  470, 

511,  525,  572 
Methodology,  7,  45 
Metronymic  family,  339 
Micella,  311 

Michaelis,  Johann  David,  556 
Microscope,  Invention  of  the,  521 
Middle  Ages,  392,  395,  506,  507,  517,  518, 

532,  533,  539 
Migration  of  men,  58,  198,  202,  218,  491, 

520,548 

the  arts,  518 

Militarism,  204,  205,  272,  511 

Military  systems,  30 

Milk,  Cow's,  not  used  by  the  Homeric 

Greeks,  519 
Milky  way,  52,  53 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  37,  56,  129,  346,  411 

— , ,  quoted,  22,  23,  153 

Miller,  Hugh,  73 

Millet,  Jean  Francois,  84,  454 

Milne  Edwards,  Henri,  quoted,  315 

Mind  an  accident  or  epiphenomenon,  128 

2Q 


Mind  as  a  social  factor,  474,  484 

— ,  Biologic  origin  of,  101,  111,  475 

— ,  Collective,  91,  92,  567,  568 

— ,  Dual  nature  of,  129,  457,  476 

— ,  Explanation  of,  124 

— ,  Genesis  of,  475 

— ,  Mystery  of,  493 

-,  Origin  of,  90,  100,  119,  124,  126,  128 

—  restricted  by  philosophers  to  the  intel- 
lect, 101,  458,  493,  496 

— ,  Scope  of,  101 

—  the  first  object  of  study,  504,  526 
— ,  The  method  of,  469, 525 

—  vs.  body,  287 

— ,  where  does  it  begin  ?  119 

Mineralogy,  274,  542 

Minerva,  369 

Minimal  effort,  Principle  of,  161 

Miocene  period,  39 

Mirandula,  Johannes  Picus,  496 

Misarchy,  551-554 

Miscegenation,  215 

— ,  Laws  governing,  359,  360 

Misers,  277 

Misoneism,  230,  252 

Mocking  birds,  432 

Modesty,  92,  390 

Modifiability  of  phenomena,  176,  248,  250, 

251,  255,  492,  512 
Moerenbaut,  J.  A.,  350,  382 
Molar  activities,  94,  95,  117,  118,  173 
Mold-board,  Invention  of  the,  518 
Molecular  activities,  93-95,  117,  118, 173 

—  systems,  174 
Molecules,  176 
Moleschott,  Jacob,  289 
Moleyn,  Frederick  de,  523 
Mombuttus,  388 
Momentum,  165 
Monads,  171 

Moners,  305 

Money,  Love  of,  278 

— ,  Origin  of,  277 

Monica,  356 

Monism,  123,  172,  254,  535 

— ,  Ethical,  430 

Monitory  pains,  130,  131,  138,  459 

Monoecism,  233,  318,  319 

Monogamy,  Conditions  and  obstacles  to 

the  success  of,  375,  378,  410,  411 
— ,  Origin  of,  342,  355,  409,  410 
Monogenism,  195,  478 
Monomania,  37 
Monomaniacs,  398 
Monophony, 437 

Monopodial  branching,  72,  73,  86,  379 
Monopoly,  551,  568 
Monosporogonia,  306 
Monteiro,  Joachim  John,  quoted,  392 
Montesquieu,  Charles,  Baron  de,  56,  58 


594 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


Moral  certainty,  47 

—  code,  187,  420,  421,  483 

—  development  of  the  race,  346,  350,  395, 
396,  556 

—  forces,  258,  261-263,  417,  418,  493 

—  indirection,  483 

—  philosophy,  420 

—  progress,  The  real,  450-453 

—  science,  420 

—  sense,  346,  350,  422,  482 
— ,  The  word,  185,  419,  483 

—  vs.  unmoral  or  non-moral,  482,  483 

—  world,  128,  129 
"Morale,"  Comte's,  187 
Morality,  Individual,  418-420,  422 
— ,  No  standard  of,  421 

—  of  accomplices,  209 

—  of  restraint,  420,  421 

— ,  Race,  187,  418,  419,  422 
Morals,  Primitive  basis  of,  187 
— ,  Pure,  420 

—  vs.  decadence,  231 
More,  Sir  Thomas,  84,  508 
Morgan,  C.  Lloyd,  quoted,  156 
— ,  Lewis  H.,  300,  339,  566 
Morley,  John,  21,  39 
Morphology,  543 

Morris,  William,  83 

Morse,  Samuel  Finley  Breese,  523 

Mortillet,  Adrien  de,  333 

— ,  Gabriel  de,  333 

Mos,  185,  419,  483 

Mosquitoes,  317 

Mother-cells,  313 

Motherright,  213,  339,  340 

Moths,  155,  330 

Motility,  94,  97,  101,  116-119,  121 

Motion  as  an  irreducible  category,  165 

— ,  Impossibility  of,  21 

— ,  Laws  of,  46,  170,  535 

— ,  Modes  of,  173, 176,  255,  492,  512,  544 

— ,  Molecular,  51 

—  vs.  movement,  98,  221 
rest,  163 

Motives,  102,  110,  157-159,  261,  425 
Motor  apparatus,  100 
Movement  vs.  motion,  98,  221 
Multiplication,  Checks  to,  358 
— ,  Malthusian  law  of,  483 

—  of  chances,  324,  469 
effects,  244,  469,  551 

—  static,  182,  221,  232,  308 
Municipal  trading,  561 

Museums,  Early  establishment    of,  506, 

507,  542 

Music,  436,  437,  453,  497 
Mutation,  243,  499,  501,  510 
Mutual  selection,  361,  396,  399,  401,  500 
Mysophobia,  103 
Mysticism,  389 


Na'iars,  338 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  quoted,  367,  368 

Nation,  The,  211 

National  antipathy,  438 

—  sentiment,  211,  212,  428 
Nations,  Decline  of,  227,  228 

— ,  Origin  of,  76,  77,  205,  275,  416 
Natura  naturans,  123,  252,  304,  323,  397 
Natural  history,  507,  532,  542 

—  love,  378,  379,  408,  427 

—  selection,   132,   170,  180,  234,  235,  242, 
320,  336,  361,  493,  497,  498,  510,  542,  543 

,  The  "  all-sufficiency  of,"  327 

—  system  of  plants,  537 

—  vs.  artificial,  viii,  17,  465,  511 

supernatural,  526 

Naturalists,  Greek,  506 
Nature,  Appreciation  of,  430 

—  conquered  only  by  obedience  to,  387 

—  easily  managed  by  intelligence,  255, 512 
— ,  Fear  of,  109,  430,  435 

— ,  Imperfection  in,  81,  82,  88,  469 

— ,  Love  of,  430,  435 

— ,  Method  of,  68,  88,  324,  447,  448,  469, 

470,  511,  525,  572 
— ,  Object  of,  112,  126,  250,  308 

—  worship,  Scientific,  5 
Neanderthal,  Man  of,  333 
Nebulae,  93,  173 
Nebular  hypothesis,  93,  536 
Necessity,  Social  vs.  individual,  388,  389 
— ,  Spiritual,  435 

—  vs.  luxury,  435 

utility,  131,  265,  285,  390,  391,  435 

Nectar,  234,  319 

Negative  social  forces,  258,  261,  262,  264, 

283,  285,  416,  424 
Nematodes,  315 
Neo-Darwinians,  327,  500 
Nerve  plexuses,  138,  390,  391,  395 
Nerves,  Specialized,  130,  261,  262,  459, 477 
Nervous  system,  Esthetic  development  of 

the,  122,  391,  432 
Neu-Pommern,  338 
Neurons,  391 
Neuroptera,  76,  317 
Neurosis,  460 
Neuville,  A.  de,  517 
New  Britain,  338 
News,  54,  487 
Newspaper,  The,  487,  488 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  27,  449,  500,  507,  508, 

535,  536,  539,  540,  541 
New  Zealand,  350,  561,  564,  565 
Nicaraguans,  338 
Niepce,  Joseph  Nicephore,  523 
Nietzsche,  Friedrich,  631 
Nineteenth-century  achievements,  537, 538 
Nineveh,  23,  517 
Nirvana,  143 


INDEX 


595 


Nisus  of  nature,  The  universal,  22,  115, 

136,241 

Nitrogen,  115,  537 
Nobility,  The,  362,  446,  524,  550 
Noeggerathia,  75 
Noetic  phenomena,  458,  471 
Noetics,  458 

Nomenclature,  Binomial  system  of,  542 
Non-advantageous  faculties,  493,  511, 526 
— ,  in  what  sense  used,  509 

—  vs.  disadvantageous,  500,  501 
Non-contradiction,  Law  of,  57 
Non-essential  social  forces,  258-260 
Non-utilitarian  characters,  242 
Noology,  458,  504 

Nose-ape,  333 

Noun,  Origin  of  the,  188,  190 
Numerals,  Arabic,  26,  27,  505,  528 
— ,  Roman,  26,  27,  528 
"Nurse,"  The,  422 
Nutrition,  106,  129,  137,  259,  266,  545 
— ,  Adaptation  to  diminishing,  287,  288 
— ,  Effect  of  ample  or  deficient,  288,  289 
— ,  Race  vs.  individual,  291 
— ,  Reproduction  a  form  of,  290,  304-308, 
373,  377 

Oars,  Primitive,  516 

Object  of  nature,  112,  126,  250,  308 

Objective  faculties,  102,  111,422, 423,  457, 

458,  464,  472,  476 
,  Biologic  origin  of  the,  475 

—  psychology,  128 
Objects  vs.  ejects,  423 

Observation,  Scientific,  504,  506-509,  525, 
527,  531 

Occultism,  150 

Odors,  Language  of,  257 

Odyssey,  519 

Oersted,  Hans  Christian,  523 

Offense  and  defense,  Parallel  develop- 
ment of  the  means  of,  203,  286,  484 

Oil  painting,  521 

Oken,  Lorenz,  56 

Onomatoposia,  189 

Ontogenetic  forces,  107,  260-262,  265,  266, 
291,  431,  432,  437,  463 

—  method,  475,  476 
Ontogeny,  259 
Ontotrophy,  291 

Operative  functions  of  society,  547,  548 

Ophioglossum,  86,  87 

Opportunity,  448,  550 

Optimism,  142-144, 417,  487 

— ,  Natural  vs.  rational,  143 

— ,  Scientific,  231 

Orang,  333 

Order  in  nature,  51 

— ,  Sense  of,  187 

— ,  The  social,  135,  184,  193,  223,  259,  324 


Order  vs.  progress,  223 
Organic  compounds,  53,  90,  94,  95,  118, 
541 

—  matter,  112 

—  structures,  174,  176,  178,  183,  471,  501 

—  theory  in  sociology,  14 
— ,  The  word,  89 
Orgauicists,  79 
Organisms,  174,  176 
Organization,  173 

— ,  Chemical  vs.  biotic,  118 
— ,  Social,  184 

Organized  matter,  112-114,  120 
Organs,  129,  176,  178 

Oriental  civilization,  32,  95,  226,  227,  362, 
518,  526 

—  literature,  364 

—  philosophy,  33,  142,  143,  526 
Origin  of"  evil,  131 

genius,  493 

life,  90,  93,  97,  113,  115,  136,  141, 

307,  478 

mind,  90,  100,  119,  124,  126,  128 

species,  242,  510 

the  male  sex,  313,  373,  374 

state,  30,  205,  206,  275,  416 

Original  social  forces,  263 

Originality,  42 

Oro,  382 

Orthoptera,  317 

Ossification,  Social,  230 

Other-love,  427 

Otta,  Fossil  man  of,  334 

Over-nutrition,  288 

Ovule,  318 

Ovum,  205,  314 

Oxygen,  115,  536,  573 

Pacific  assimilation,  215 
Paddles,  Primitive  use  of,  515 
Pain  a  condition  to  existence,  122 

—  and  pleasure  economy,  105,  283,  417, 
435 

—  avoiding  social  forces,  258, 261, 264, 265 
— ,  Desire  a  form  of,  104, 138,  143,  404 

—  increases  with  the  degree  of  organiza- 
tion, 431 

—  nerves,  130,  137,  262,  459 
— ,  Origin  of,  128 

— ,  Positive  and  negative,  104 
— ,  Representative,  264,  346,  413,  42^425, 
433 

—  results  from  restraint,  245 
— ,  Sensations  allied  to,  103 

— ,  Sense  of  relief  from,  105,  425 
Painted  cup,  187 
Painting,  453,  454,  521 
Paleobotany,  71 
Paleontology,  112,  507 
Paleozoic  period,  38,  40,  74,  75 


596 


PURE   SOCIOLOGY 


Paleozoology,  76 
Palissya,  75 
Panmixia,  500 
— ,  Social,  289 
Paper,  Age  of,  25 
— ,  Invention  of,  521 
Papin,  Denys,  522 
Papyrus,  519,  531 
Paradox  of  hedonism,  129 
Paradoxers,  47 
Paradoxes  of  nature,  302 

the  social  forces,  264 

— ,  Social  and  economic,  452,  511 

Parallelogram  of  forces,  164 

Paranoiacs,  398 

Parasites,  Social,  61 

Parasitic  degeneracy,  228,  429 

—  males,  315,  373 

Parasitism,  61,  228 

Parchment,  25,  531 

Parentage,  Tests  of,  200 

Parental  affections,  187,  412 

Parrots,  432 

Parsimony,  Law  of ,  59-62,  161,  164,228, 

312,  326,  428,  570 

Parthenogenesis,  200,  306,  307,  313,  380 
Pascal,  Blaise,  37,  143,  522 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  34,  35 
Passions  as  social  forces,  101, 103, 110, 138, 

139-141,  176,  420,  436,  464,  496 
Paternity,  Tardy  recognition  of,  200,  340- 

345,  351,  376 
Patriarchal  family  and  system,  200,  213, 

339,  345,  352,  355,  376,  399,  524,  548 
Patriarchate,  352,  372,  376,  446 
Patriarchy,  193 

Patriotism,  205,  211,  212,  214,  428     • 
Patten,  Simon  N.,98,  105,  243,  247,  283, 284 
Paupers,  Creation  of,  61 
Peace,  201,  202,  238-240,  268 
Peasantism,  454 
Pechenard,  Monseigneur,  538 
Pendulum,  520,  533,  534,  539 
People,  Formation  of  a,  208 
— ,  Origin  of  a,  205,  275,  416,  428 
Perception,  460,  479 
— ,  Intuitive,  479 

—  of  relations,  479,  492 

utilities,  492,  494,  524,  525 

Perceptions,  percepts,  176,  461,  504 

Perceptive  faculties,  461 

Perfectibility  of  the  human  race,  35 

Perfectionment,  182,  221,  232 

Peristalsis,  107 

Permian  period,  74 

Perpetual  infancy  of  women,  299 

—  motion,  494 

Persistence  of    un specialized    types,  74, 

76,  78 
Pessimism,  38,  41,  143,  144,  384 


Petrarch,  Francesco,  400 
Petrifaction,  222 
Phallicism,  383,  384 
Phavorinus,  Varinus,  quoted,  496 
Phenicians,  517-519 
Philanthropy,  246,  429 
— ,  Sociology  as,  14 
Philoprogenitiveness,  262 
Philosophic  genius,  496 
Philosophy  an  achievement,  26,  41 
— ,  Ancient,  494,  504,  505 
— ,  Mediaeval,  507,  508 
— ,  Modern,  541 

—  of  history,  13,  14,  56-58 

pleasure  and  pain,  122, 128,  129,  136, 

137,  139,  143,  161,  163,  421 
— ,  Oriental,  33,  142,  143,  526 
— ,  Subjective  trend  of,  140 
Philozoism,  429 
Phlogiston,  537,  549 
Photography,  435,  523 
Phrenology,  150 
Phylogenesis,  291 
Phylogenetic  forces,  107, 260-262,  265, 290, 

418,  426,  427,  431,  437,  464 
,  Classification  of  the,  377 

—  method,  476 
Phylogeny,  185,  259 
— ,  Social,  185 
Phylotrophy,  291 
Physical  basis  of  life,  95, 116 

—  imperatives,  137 

—  phenomena,  94 

—  seat  of  the  social  forces,  261-263,  390 

—  social  forces,  260,  261,  264,  265,  283, 390, 
400,  462,  545 

—  superiority  of  the  leisure  class,  286-288, 
370,  446,  447 

Physics,  History  and  progress  of,  535,  537, 

539,  540 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  47,  48, 69,  90 
— ,  Psychic,  150 
— ,  Social,  147 
— .  —  value  of,  110 
Physiography,  53 
Physiological  selection,  242 

—  units,  311 

Physiology  erroneously  conceived  as  dy- 
namic, 181 
— ,  History  and  progress  of,  507,  533,  543 
— ,  Social,  15 
Pictography,  191 
Pineal  gland,  138, 139 
Piston,  170,  522 

Pithecanthropus,  196, 197, 199,  229,  333 
Pitt-Rivers,  Augustus  Henry,  515 
Plane-tree,  319 
Planets,  93,  115,  173,  527 
Plant  lice,  307 
Plants,  as  products  of  nature,  94,  95,  179 


INDEX 


597 


Plants,  do  they  feel?  119,  121 

— ,  Female  superiority  in,  318-322 

— ,  Geological  history  of,  195 

— ,  Insectivorous,  141 

— ,  Local  distribution  of,  180 

— ,  Natural  system  of,  537 

Plasms,  85,  134,  185, 187,  419,  520 

Plasson  bodies,  118,  120 

Plastic  organisms,  120-122, 125 

— ,  Survival  of  the,  125,  230 

Plato,  84,  88,  442,  465,  505 

Play  instinct,  129 

Pleasure  a  condition  to  existence,  122 

measure  of  value,  283 

—  and  pain,  Philosophy  of,  122, 128,  129, 
136,  137,  139,  143,  161,  163,  421 

—  consists  in  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  105 
— ,  Desire  confounded  with,  104 

—  economy,  105 

—  nerves,  130,  133,  137,  138 
— ,  Origin  of,  128 

— ,  Representative,  106 

—  results  from  the  normal  exercise  of  the 
faculties,  245,  438 

—  seeking  social  forces,  258,  261,  264 

—  the  basis  of  beauty,  495 

—  vs.  relief  from  pain,  104, 105 
Pleistocene  period,  38-40, 196 
Pliny,  506 

Pliocene  period,  39,  76 

Plow,  Development  of  the,  518,  519 

Plumose  panicles  of  brain  cells,  391 

Plutolatry,  277 

Poesis,  88,  232,  513 

Poetic  idea,  84,  94,  224,  542 

Poetry,  84,  437,  532 

Polarity  in  nature,  172,  205-207,  236 

Political  economy,  Dynamic  element  in, 

283 

,  Exact  laws  of,  107,  280 

,  Neglected  factors  of,  48,  107,  471 

,  Sociology  as,  14 

— ,  Sterility  of,  48,  471 

—  institutions,  185,  188 

—  parties,  54 

—  systems,  30 
Politics,  487 
Polyandry,  349 
Polychotomy,  86 

Polygamy  a  monopoly,  362,  409 
— ,  Former  universality  of,  357,  361 
— ,  Love  and  domestic  infelicity  impos- 
sible to,  409 
— ,  Origin  of,  342 
— ,  Patriarchal,  352,  355 
Polygenism,  32,  194,  195,  201,  449 
Polygyny,  342,  357,  362,  376 
Polynesians,  382,  383 
Polyphony, 437 
Polysporogonia,  306 


Polyzoa,  478 

Pompeii,  489,  517 

Ponophobia,  162 

Poplars,  319 

Population,  Density  of,  238,  573 

—  diminishes  with  intelligence,  231,  288 
of  the  globe,  113 

— ,  Principle  of,  170 
Porta,  Giambattista,  521 
Positive  philosophy,  149 

—  social  forces,  256,  258,  261,  264,  285 

—  stage  of  thought,  379 
Possession  vs.  presence,  400,  403 

property,  273,  276 

Post-Tertiary  period,  217 
Potassium,  537 

Potential,  Difference  of,  231,   232,  242, 
282,  308,  309,  323,  356,  379,  498,  527 

—  vs.  kinetic  energy,  98,  232,  234 
Potter's  wheel,  519 

Pottery,  513,  517,  568 

Poulton,  Edward  B.,  327,  498 

Poverty,  Abolition  of,  571 

Powell,  J.  W.,  269 

Power,  Mechanical  formula  for,  165 

Powers,  H.  H.,  283 

Prairie  fires,  10,  11 

Praying  insect,  316 

Precession  of  the  equinoxes,  527 

Precocity,  37 

Predatory  animals    and  men,  482,  484- 

486,556 

Preestablished  harmony,  126,  127,  261 
Presence  vs.  possession,  400,  403 
Presentative   vs.  representative   psychic 

phenomena,    137,    264,  346,  413,  423- 

426,433 

Preservative  social  forces,  258-260 
Press,  The,  487,  488,  573 
Prevision,  470,  512 

Prices,  Laws  governing,  280,  282,  489 
Priesthood,  362,  383,  446,   506,  512,  527, 

528,  550 

Priestley,  Joseph,  536 
Primates,  375 

Primitive  woman,  332,  376 
Primordium,  42 
Principle  divides,  208,  276 

—  of  advantage,  115,  121,  125,  170,  228, 
234,  308,  313,  493,  502,  566 

—  vs.  law,  169 

Printing,  Invention  of ,  26,  191,  507,  522 
Private  enterprise,  547,  564 
Probability  in  sociology,  47 
Prodigies,  36,  37,  54 
Production,  278 
— ,  Age  of,  522,  523 
— ,  Law  of  the  increase  of,  282 
Products  of  nature,  93,  94,  100,  141 
Progress  among  savages,  33,  197 


598 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Progress,  Conditions  to  human,  238,  240 

—  Law  of,  21,  238 

—  Moral  vs.  material,  255 
,  The  real,  450-453 

—  Proofs  of,  111,  112 

—  Quantitative  vs.  qualitative,  454 

—  Social,  143,  223,  236,  254,  463, 525,  551 

—  Subjective,  284 

—  unwelcome,  226,  227,  252 
— ,  Uses  of  the  term,  225,  284 

—  vs.  order,  223 
Prohibitory  laws,  570 
Proletariat,  447,  486 
Promiscuity,  339-342,  353,  357,  382,  406 
Properties,  Activity  of,    increases    with 

complexity  of  substance,  118,  119 

—  distinguished  from  qualities,  128,  460, 
477,  479 

— ,  how  a  knowledge  of,  is  acquired,  460, 
461,  477,  479 

—  known  only  by  observation,  123, 124, 128 

—  of  the  primary  products  of  nature,  93, 
94,  97,  100, 136, 174 

— ,  Utilization  of,  19,  524,  569 

—  vs.  forces,  19,  513 
Property,  192,  273,  549,  567 
Prophecy,  Retrospective,  508,  509 

—  vs.  poetry,  84 
Prophetic  types,  85, 86 
Propinquity,  209,  399,  406,  407,  410 
Proportional  dividers,  521 
Prostitution,  357,  358 
Protective  imitation,  502,  503 

—  social  forces,  258,  262,  285,  286 
Protein,  117,  119 
Proterandry,  233 
Proterogyny,  233 
Prothallium,  318 

Protista,  protists,  118,  127, 179,  305,  318 

Protophyta,  118,  273,  318 

Protoplasm,  90,  94,  97,  100,  116-119,  127, 

176,  305 

— ,  Social,  200,  201,  274 
Protosocial  type  and  stage  of  society,  274, 

276,  284,  341,  354,  357, 361, 372,  376, 381, 

427,449 
Protozoa,  100,  107,  118,  267,  273,  310,  312, 

318,  381,  431,  477,  478 
Proverbs,  472,  473 

—  derogatory  to  woman,  366 
Psychic  force,  100 

—  phenomena,  94,  95 

—  physics,  150 

—  structures,  176,  183 
Psychical  research,  150 
Psychics,  150, 164,  484,  485 
Psychism,  101,  119,  136,  178 
Psychologic  process,  The,  439, 458-462,  475 
Psychology  as  a  special  social  science, 

15,62 


Psychology,  Biologic  basis  of,  101 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  67-69, 90, 101 

— ,  Social,  110 

— ,  Subjective  vs.  objective,  128 

—  vs.  metaphysics,  504 
Psychometry,  106,  159 
Psychosis,  460 
Psychozoic  age,  16 
Pteridophytes,  318 

Ptolemaic  theory  of  astronomy,  549 
Ptolemy,  506,  527 

Pure  sociology,  General  characteristics  of, 
3,  215,  547 

—  morals,  420 

—  vs.  applied  science,  viii,  3 
Puy-Courny,  Fossil  man  of,  334 
Pyramids  of  Egypt,  24,  529,  530 
Pythagoras,  53,  505,  531,  532 

Qua,  D.  V.  T.,  26 

Qualities  distinguished  from  properties, 

128,  460,  477,  479 
Quality  reducible  to  quantity,  253,  308, 

325 

Quaternions,  441,  442,  539 
Quaternary  period,  38,  39,  201 
Quetelet,  Adolphe,  149 
Quietism,  33,  142,  254 

Race  amalgamation,  205, 356, 376, 449, 548, 
567 

—  continuance,  Forces  of,  143,  259,  260 

—  elevation,  Forces  of,  259,  260,  264 

—  hatred,  193,  198,  201,  203,  206,  211,  416, 
427,  428 

—  mixture,  Laws  of,  359,  360 

—  morality,  187,  418,  419,  422 
perception,  421 

—  safety,  134,  263,  265,  419-421 

—  symmetry,  397,  398,  402,  406 
vigor,  201,  210,  234,  324,  356,  358,  406 

Races,  All  known,  far  advanced,  337 

—  as  social  structures,  240 

— ,  Cause  of  the  differences  in,  399 

— ,  Dominant,  238-240 

— ,  Origin,  development,  and  destiny  of, 

216-220 
— ,  Primitive  heterogeneity  of,  32,  76, 193- 

195,  201,  202,  205,  206,  266,  275,  281 
— ,  Repugnance  of  the  lower,  219 
— ,  Struggle  of,  14, 30,  41, 76,  203,  212, 213, 

215,  236,  238 
Radiant  energy,  94,  173,  542 
Railway,  History  of  the,  471,  522,  523 
— ,  Public  control  of  the,  559,  562 
Ranke,  Leopold  von,  530 
Rapacity,  Natural,  of  man,  556,  567 
Rape,  Marriage  by,  210,  357,  401 
— ,  Philosophy  of,  358-360 
Ratiocination,  462 


LXDEX 


599 


Rational  faculty  scientifically  explicable, 

492 
the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 

man,  196-199,  334,  419,  463,  474 

—  vs.  reasonable,  335,  480 
Ratzenhofer,  Gustav,  21,  30,  34,  60,  61, 76, 

108,  162,  203,  205,  213,  274,  430 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  300,  301,  352,  353,  551,  553 
Reaction  time,  106, 160 
Reason,  479 

— ,  Cosmic  development  of,  176 
— ,  Egoistic,  360,  424,  464,  479,  480,  512 
— ,  Group,  419,  464 

—  in  animals,  480 

— ,  Intuitive,  346,  480-482,  512,  525,  550 

—  leads  to  pessimism,  143,  144 

—  preceded  sympathy,  346 
— ,  Sufficient,  45 

— ,  Sympathy  a  form  of,  346,  423,  438 

Reasoning,  462 

— ,  Abstract,  298,  342,  441,  496,  505 

Rocompounding,  48, 80,  90,  95, 118, 212, 411 

Redtenbacher,  Joseph,  171 

Redwood,  75 

Reflex  action,  155, 156 

—  egoism,  424 
Reformation,  The,  452 

Reformers  as  social  artists,  83,  84,  452 

Regeneration,  Social,  79 

Regression,  Social,  228 

Regulation,  Legal,  206,  548,  558 

— ,  Social,  547,  557 

Regulative  functions,  547,  548 

Reid,  Thomas,  459,  496 

Rejuvenescence,  309 

Relations,  120,  439,  457,  461,  479,  505 

— ,  Perception  of,  479,  492 

Religion  conducive  to  emotional  develop- 
ment, 395 

— ,  Essential  nature  of,  134, 185,  186,  265, 
419,  442,  501,  502,  548 

—  favorable  to  exploitation,  487 

—  primarily  advantageous,  501,  502 
— ,  Relation  of,  to  morals,  419,  421 

— , ,  —  the  church,  186,  187, 193 

— ,  Residual  stage  of,  430 

— ,  Sexuality  in,  382,  383,  388,  389 
— ,  Systems  of,  464 
Renaissance,  The,  521,  533 
Repetition,  25,  232,  236,  308 
Representation,  Subjective  vs.  objective, 

433 
Representative  vs.  presentative   psychic 

phenomena,  137,    264,    346,    413,  423- 

426,433 
Reproduction,  129,  137,  304 

—  a  form  of  nutrition,  290,  304-308,  373, 
377 

— ,  Altruism  of,  291,  418,  419,  422,  426,  431 
— ,  Artificial,  380,  381 


Reproduction,  Asexual,  232,  233,  305-313 
— ,  Compound,  310 

—  inverse  to  nutrition,  288,  291 

—  not  the  purpose  of  sex,  232,  234,  304, 
305,  309,  310,  325,  329,  375,  376 

— ,  Male  part  in,  unknown  to  animals 
and  earliest  man,  200,  340-345,  351, 
376 

— ,  Mystery  of,  304 

— ,  Social,  79,  260 

Reproductive  forces,  200,  258-260 

Restraint,  Morality  of,  420,  421 

— ,  Social,  91,  92,  249,  503,  550,  551 

Restraints  to  feeling,  132,  169,  249,  419 

Revolution,  222,  223,  268 

Rhesus  monkey,  361 

Rib,  Biblical  myth  of  the,  301,  365 

Ricardian  law,  280 

Ricorso,  373 

Right,  Abstract,  420,  421,  549 

— ,  Legal,  205,  206,  275,  276,  550 

— ,  Moral,  262,  420,  421,  483 

Riley,  Charles  Valentine,  297,  301,  316 

— ,  James  Whitcomb,  quoted,  403 

Rivalry  for  mates,  330,  331,  336,  341,  352, 
375,  401,  416 

Robenhausen,  518 

Robertson,  John  M.,  134,  187 

Roberty,  Eugene  de,  483 

Rodents,  317 

Rollers,  Primitive  use  of,  516 

Romances,  396,  402,  407 

—  of  great  men,  400 
Romanes,  George  J.,  241,  242 
Romantic  love,  262,  378,   390,  403,  404, 

408,427,453 
,  Modern  origin  of,  392-394, 405,  406, 

409,  410 

Rootstocks,  306 
Ross,  Edward  Alsworth,  92,  187,  209,  426 

— , ,  quoted,  227 

Rudiments  vs.  vestiges,  269 

Rumford,  Count  (Benjamin  Thompson), 

536 

Runners,  306 

Ruse,  The,  484,  485,  490,  524 
Ruskin,  John,  83 
Ryder,  John  A.,  314 

Sabines,  Rape  of  the,  210 

Sacerdotal  class,  267,  278,  511 

Sachs,  Julius,  45 

Sacrifice,  346,  453 

Safe,  The,  261 

Safety,  Group  sentiment  of,  134,  185,  187, 

356,  405,  419,  464,  501,  506,  548,  556 
— ,  Race,  134,  263,  265,  419-421 
Sagacity,  490 
Sail  boat,  The,  known  to  the  early  Greeks, 

519 


600 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Sails,  Early  use  of,  516 

Saint  Simon,  Claude  Henri,  Comte  de, 
19,56 

Salt,  When  first  used  by  man,  519 

Salvation,  43,  265,  551 

Sanchouiatho  (Sanchoniathon) ,  517,  519 

Sanctity  of  the  second  person,  209,  406 

Sanctorius,  Sanctorius,  534 

Sand,  George,  295 

Sanford,  Fernando,  quoted,  167 

Sarbacand,  516 

Saros,  527 

Sarsen  stones,  530 

Saturnology,  69 

Savages,  absence  of  curiosity  among,  445 

— ,  Fondness  of,  for  symmetrical  objects, 
51,434 

— ,  Incapacity  of,  for  labor,  271 

— ,  Most  advanced  races  once  in  the  con- 
dition of,  450 

— ,  Physical  inferiority  of,  286 

— ,  Progress  among,  33,  197 

—  supposed  to  be  degenerate,  229 

— ,  Treatment  of  women  by,  347-350,  376, 

377 

Savery,  Thomas,  522 
Scenery,  435 

Scheele,  Karl  Wilhelm,  537 
Scheherazade,  369 
Schiaparelli,  Giovanni  Virginio,  470 
Schiller,  Johann  Ghristoph  Friedrich  von, 

quoted,  107 
Schmidt,  Heinrich,  38 
Schonland,  Selmar,  498 
Schopfungstag,  38 
Schoolcraft,  Henry  Rowe,  556 
Schopenhauer,  Arthur,  36,  38,  55, 106, 123, 

136,  140,  252,  384,  402,  416,  436,  476 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  19,  257,  379,  381,  382,  389, 

407 

Schwalbe,  G.,  333 
Science  as  an  achievement,  26 

—  consists  in  reasoning  about  facts,  6, 508 

—  cultivated  in  the  inverse  order  of  its 
value  to  man,  526 

— ,  Definitions  of,  46,  99,  256,  468 

— ,  Era  of,  3,  468,  508,  568 

— ,'  History  and  progress  of,  454,  506,  532 

— ,  how  it  advances,  8 

— ,  Method  of,  508,  509 

— ,  Mission  of,  144,  525 

— ,  Popular  ignorance  of,  194,  195 

— ,  Relation  of,  to  art,  512,  513 

— ,  retarded  by  the  priesthood,  506,  512 

— ,  Sociology,  as  a,  46,  47,  62,  99,  256 

Sciences,  Abstract  vs.  concrete,  69 

— ,  Hierarchy  of  the,  46,  65,  90, 96, 195, 527 

Scientia  scientiarum,  91 

Scientific  discovery,  294,  506, 525, 555,  568 

—  imagination,  89 


Scots,  338 

Scott,  Winfield,  24 

Screw  propeller,  522 

Sculpture,,  362,  363,  437,  453,  532 

Sea,  Origin  of  life  in  the,  116,  141, 477, 478 

Seacat,  The  white-nosed,  332 

Sea-lilies,  471 

Seaweeds,  113 

Sebastiania  Palmeri,  118 

Second  person,  Sanctity  of  the,  209,  406 

Secondary  sexual  characters,  326-335,  362, 

363,  375,  401,  416,  493,  501 

,  Female,  362,  363 

Sectarianism,  Territorial,  212 
Seedlings,  233 

Seele,  140 
Segmentation,  274 
— ,  Social,  213,  274 
Selaginella,  86,  87 

—  Douglasii,  86 

Selection,  Various  kinds  of,  361 

Selenography,  69 

Selenology,  69 

Self  fertilization,  233,  234,  319,  320,  380   ' 

Self-activity,  136 

Self-awareness,  95 

Self-consciousness,  141,  543 

Self-preservation,  61,  143,  263,  417,  567 

— ,  Social,  573 

Semantics,  188 

Semi-lunar  plexus,  138 

Semiramis,  369 

Semitic  race,  339,  362,  520,  556 

Semnopithecus  nasicus,  333 

Seneca,  365 

Sensation,  458,  460 

— ,  Indifferent,  121,  423,  458-460,  477 

— ,  Intensive,  102,  121,  122,  129,  137,  423, 

458,  477 

Senses,  101,  458 
Sensibility,  101 
Sensitive  plants,  141 
Sensor  apparatus,  100 
Sensori-motor  apparatus,  101 
Sequoia,  11,  75,  77 
Seraglios,  362 
Sewing  machine,  524 
Sex  a  social  bond,  389 

—  in  art,  385,  386 

— ,  Purpose  of,  232-234,  242,  309,  310,  356, 

375 
— ,  The  term,  misleading,  308,  309 

—  vs.  reproduction,  232,  234,  305,  310,  325, 
329,  375 

Sexes,  Dissimilarity  in  the,  314-330,  363, 

364,  373-375 

— ,  Effect  of  the  separation  of  the,  399 

—  grow  more  unlike,  369,  370 

— ,  Primitive  heterogeneity  in   the  rela- 
tions of  the,  337-341,  352,  353,  357,  358 


INDEX 


601 


Sexual  act,  379,  384,  387 

—  differentiation,  233,  234 

—  forces,  258,  261,  262 

—  irregularities,  323,  324,  406 

—  novelty,  201,  210,  358 

—  passion,  382-387 

—  selection,  323,  334,  336,  337,  360,  361, 
372,  376,  396,  431,  502 

,  Male,  360,  372,  375-377,  399,  401 

Sexuality,  312,  314,  315,  318,  400 

—  in  religion,  382,  383,  388,  389 
Shakespeare,  William,  500 
Shame,  Origin  of,  384 

Shelter,  198,  286,  288,  289,  491,  557 

Sherwood,  Sidney,  162 

Shields,  Origin  of,  515 

Shintoism,  33 

Shipley,  Arthur  E.,  498 

Shooter,  J.,  349 

Shrewdness,  487,  490,  545 

Sibyls,  369 

Silk  worm,  316 

Silurian  period,  39,  40,  76, 113 

Similarity,  439 

Simmel,  Georg,  552 

Simons,  Sarah  E.,  231 

Simplicius,  535 

Sinnlichkeit,  129 

Slane,  G.  de,  56 

Slave  trade,  269,  270 

Slavery,  204,  244,  267,  274,  278,  280,  303, 

354,  355,  399,  486,  556 
— ,  Abolition  of,  269 
— ,  Recency  of  the  opposition  to,  269 
— ,  Social  mission  of,  271,  272 
Slaves,  Numerical  preponderance  of,  272 
Slavs,  353 

Sling,  Origin  of  the,  515,  516 
Smith,  Adam,  56,  140,  304,  546 
Smyth,  Piazzi,  529 
Snares,  Early  use  of,  26,  490 
Sociability,  187,  411,  426,  428,  546 

—  not  natural  to  man,  411,  556 
Social  aggregation,  212,  213 

—  alimentation,  523 

—  amalgamation,  274,  427,  446,  526 

—  appropriation,  572 

—  assimilation,  193,  222,  237, 267, 360, 391, 
392,  428,  449,  550 

—  chemistry,  210,  511 

—  circulation,  523 

—  classes,  289,  567 

—  cleavage,  526,  567 

—  compact,  549 

—  consciousness,  91 

—  continuity,  28,  31,  32,  34,  95 

—  control,  134,  503 

—  degeneration,  227 

—  differentiation,  199,  202,  217-219,260, 
266,  427,  446,  491,  518,  565 


Social  distribution,  280,  571 

—  dynamics,  168,  221,  402 

—  efficiency,  27,  28,  32,  184,  213,  214,  229, 
238,  239,  412 

—  energy,  32,  108,  110,  165,  169 

—  evolution,  40,  79,  142,  448-450,  462,  463, 
471,  544,  547 

—  forces,  Altruistic  and  egoistic,  264 
are  the  desires  and  wants  of  men, 

102,  473,  569 

centrifugal,  550 

,  Classification  of  the,  256 

consist  in  feelings,  101N 

,  Control  of  the,  551,  556,  568,  569 

,  Direct,  258,  261,  262 

,  Emotional,  138 

,  Indirect,  258,  261,  262 

,  Interest  the  basis  of  the,  21, 108 

,  Paradoxes  of  the,  264 

,  Physical  seat  of  the,  261,  262 

,  Primary,  107,  138,  277 

psychic,  101 

,  Tabular  exhibits  of  the,  258,  261 

true  natural  forces,  145, 146, 462, 568 

,  utilization  of  the,  110 

vs.  social  energy,  165,  166 

—  genesis,  463,  545 

—  germ-plasm,  34,  214,  520,  572 
,  Continuity  of  the,  572,  573 

,  Immortality  of  the,  33,  34,  214,  520, 

572,  573 

—  heredity,  34,  247,  573 

—  ideals,  4,83,  452 

—  imperative,  187,  405,  419 

—  instability,  229 

—  integration,  202,  217-219,  266,  267,  427, 
446,  564,  565 

—  invention,  547,  568 

—  karyokinesis,  205, 208-212, 236, 275, 427 

—  mechanics,  145,  216,  223,  224 

—  medium,  49 

—  order,  135,  184, 193,  223,  259,  324 

—  organism,  565,  566 

—  pathology,  288 

—  physics,  147 

—  physiology,  15 

—  progress,  143,  223, 236, 254,  463,  525, 551 

—  regulation,  547,  557 

—  reproduction,  79,  260 

—  stagnation,  183,  225,  230,  231,  236,  254 

—  statics,  168,  169,  223,  224,  266 
,  Postscript  to,  216 

—  structures,  134,  175,  176,  183,  185,  221, 
224,  232,  236,  266,  269,  416,  463,  471,  501 

,  Permanence  of,  226,  268,  300 

— ,  Survival  of  the,  511,  548,  557,  558 

—  synergy,  184,  204,  212,  214, 231, 236, 244, 
247,  260,  261,  266,  302 

—  telesis,  463,  548 

—  units,  351 


602 


PUKE  SOCIOLOGY 


Socialism,  546 

Socialization,  260,  264,  417,  424,  426,  435, 
463,  546,  547,  572 

—  of  achievement,  544 

—  education,  575 

—  wealth,  280 

—  vs.  civilization,  200,  463 

Society  as  a  product  of  nature,  94,  95 

—  exists  for  its  members,  291 
— ,  Future  of,  39 

—  imitates  the  individual,  548 

— ,  Origin  of,  90,  199,  201,  204, 491 

—  recruited  from  its  lower  elements,  288 

—  represents  an  organism  of  low  degree, 
565 

— ,  Sexual  basis  of,  389,  390 

—  the  result  of  a  recognition  of  its  advan- 
tageousness,  557,  558 

Sociogenetic  forces,  41,  107,  260,  262,  265, 

373,  417,  462-464 
Sociological  parallax,  450 

—  perspective,  448 

—  tree,  76 

Sociology  an  independent  discipline,  90, 91 

—  as  a  science,  46,  47,  62,  99,  256 
— ,  Constructive,  184 

— ,  Data  of,  15 

— ,  Establishment  of  the  science  of,  8 

— ,  Mathematical,  145,  164,  166 

— ,  Mission  of,  144 

— ,  No  text-books  of,  569 

— ,  Place  of,  in  the  hierarchy,  67,  69 

— ,  Precursors  of,  56,  507,  524 

— ,  Psychologic  basis  of,  100,  471 

— ,  Pure  vs.  applied,  vii,  viii,  3,  144,  281, 

431,  448,  546 
— ,  Standpoint  of,  283 
— ,  Subject-matter  of,  15 
— ,  Systems  of,  12 
— ,  The  word,  149,  274 
Socrates,  56,  504,  517 
Sodium,  537 

Sommering,  Samuel  Thomas,  523 
Solieff ,  Wladimir,  quoted,  452 
Solomon,  523 
Soul  of  the  universe,  136 
— ,  Physical  seat  of  the,  138,  139 
— ,  The,  140,  526 
Souud,  Visualization  of,  191, 192 
South  Australia,  561,  571 
Space,  165,  497 

—  of  four  dimensions,  539 
Spears,  Primitive  use  of,  515,  516 
Special  creation,  194,  549 

—  social  sciences,  14,  69,  91 
Specialization,  76-78, 114, 130,  230 
Species,   Doctrine  of  the  fixity  of,  224, 

542,  549 

— ,  Origin  of,  242,  510 
— ,  Social,  215 


Species,  Transmutation  of,  141,  224,  253, 

542 

Specific  gravity,  Law  of,  532,  539 
Spectrum  analysis,  540 
Speculation,  Philosophical,  504,  H05,  541 
Speculative  genius,  296 
Speech,  188 
— ,  Parts  of,  180,  190 
Spelling  reformers,  191,  192 
Spence,  William,  316,  327 
Spencer,  Herbert,  65-69,  80,  123,  132,  134, 

180,    186,   187,  192,  219,  241,  244,  246, 

272,   274,  284,  302,  314,  346,  421,  424, 

430,  445,  451,  496,  499,  547,  565 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  66,  67,  154,  162,  212,  226, 

303,  337,  347,  348,  349,  350,  367,  388,  412, 

425,  515,  554,  555,  559,  560 
Spendthrifts,  277 
Sperm  cells,  312,  314,  318,  374,  375,  385, 

386 

Spermatophores,  315 
Spermatozoa,  205, 314,  537 
— ,  Social,  205 
Spermatozoids,  318,  319 
Sperm-plasm,  328 
Sphaerularia  Bombi,  314 
Spiders,  155,  315,  316,  324,  326,  359,  422, 

485 
Spindle,    The,    known    to    the    Homeric 

Greeks,  519 
— ,  —  social,  206,  236 
Spinning  jenny,  522 
Spinoza,  Benedict,  139, 140,  508 
Spirit  of  nature,  136,  141 
Spiritual  forces,  251,  259-265,  361,  390- 

393,  408,  436,  462 

—  nature  of  matter,  379,  387 

—  necessity,  435 

—  phenomena,  166,  167, 251,  254,  379,  381 

—  universe,  166 

—  vs.  supernatural,  167 
Spiritualism,  150,  493 
Sponges,  477 

Spontaneous  generation,  116,  307 

— ,  Proper  use  of  the  term,  viii,  95,  117, 

140 

Spore  formation,  306 
Sporogonia,  306 

Sports,  Biological  meaning  of,  240,  243 
Sportsmanship,  Instinct  of,  129 
Sprenger,  Jacob,  365 
Stability,  Social,  229,  230,  232,  268 

—  vs.  lability,  230,  232,  268 
Stae'l,  Madame  de,  295 
Stagnant  vs.  static,  180, 184 
Stagnation,  183,  358 

— ,  Social,  183,  225,  230,  231,  236,  254 
Stahl,  Georg  Ernst,  537 
Stan  ton,  Elizabeth  Cady,  297 
Starcke,  C.  N.,  quoted,  6 


INDEX 


603 


Starkie,  Thomas,  quoted,  154 

State,  The,  549 

— ,  as  a  social  structure,  188,  193 

— ,  Ethical  nature  of,  551,  555 

— ,  Liberating  effect  of,  553,  5(56,  568 

— ,  Origin  of,  30,  '205,  206,  275,  416 

— ,  the  condition  to  achievement,  550, 

555 

—  universities,  574 
Statics,  164,  168,  181,  183,  308 
— ,  Biological,  159,  180-182,  542 
— ,  Social,  168,  169,  223,  224,  266 

—  vs.  dynamics,  221,  222 
Stationary,  Fallacy  of  the,  183 
Status,  Regime  of,  272 

Steam  engine,  519,  521,  522,  525 

— ,  Utilization  of,  18,  170,  519,  525,  532 

Steamship,  471,  522,  523 

Steatopygy,  362 

Stein,  Charlotte  von,  400 

— ,  Ludwig,  47,  405 

Steinheil,  Karl  August,  523 

Stephenson,  George,  523 

Stick,  The,  man's  first  tool,  515 

Stirps,  311 

Stolons,  232,  306 

Stomach,  261,  266,  284 

— ,  The  social,  266 

Stone,  Age  and  early  use  of,  19, 25, 513, 515 

Stone,  Miss  Ellen  M.,  557 

Stonehenge,  530 

Storage  batteries,  178,  181 

,  Natural,  100, 137 

—  of  energy,  174,  177,  178 
Strategy,  488,  490 
Structure  a  means,  15,  113,  114 
— ,  Struggle  for,  184,  266 

—  vs.  function,  15,  180 
Structures,  Artificial,  176,  222,  471 
— ,  Chemical,  175,  176 

— ,  Cosmic,  175,  176 

— ,  Disadvantageous  vs.  non-advanta- 
geous, 500,  501 

— ,  Obsolete  and  obsolescent,  269 

— ,  Organic,  174,  176,  178,  183,  471,  501 

— ,  Psychic,  176,  183 

— ,  Social,  134,  175,  176,  183,  185,  221,  224, 
232,  236,  266,  269,  416,  463,  471,  501 

Struggle  for  existence,  144,  184,  266,  276, 
446,  497,  511,  531,  537,  548,  567 

structure,  184,  266 

—  of  races,  14,  30,  41,  76,  203,  212,  213, 
215,  236,  238 

— ,  Sociology  as  the,  14 
— ,  The  universal,  in  nature,  173 
Sturgeon,  William,  540 
Style,  45 
— ,  Sacred,  451 

Subjection  of  woman,  300,  335,  345,  346, 
361,  364,  368,  369,  376,  401,  424,  464 


Subjective  environment,  58 

—  faculties,  102,  128,  129,  135,  136,  140, 
423,  458,  459,  464,  476 

,  Biologic  origin  of,  111,  475 

—  psychology,  128 

—  trend  of  philosophy,  140 
Subject-matter  of  sociology,  15 
Subjugation,  205 

Sufficient  reason,  45 
Sun  spots,  534 
Sun-dial,  519,  527 
Supernatural  vs.  natural,  526 

spiritual,  167 

Superstition,  269 

Supply  and  demand,  544,  575 

Supra-normal  phenomena,  334 

Surplus  social  energy,  243,  244,  446,  502, 

510,  526 
Survival  of  the  fittest,  125,  132,  184,  469, 

497,  511 

plastic,  125,  230 

social,  511,  548,  557',  558 

Survivals,  200,  343,  346,  347,  357,  384 
Swedenborg,  Emanuel,  94 
Sweet-william,  189 
Swift,  Jonathan,  Dean,  38,  50,  143 
Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  84 
Swinton,  John,  quoted,  487 
Syllogism,  462,  480 

—  of  sympathy,  423 

Symmetrical  bodies  in  nature,  174,  175, 
179 

—  objects  first  to  appeal  to  the  esthetic 
sense,  51,  434 

Sympathetic    nervous    system,  138,  262, 

263 
Sympathy  absent  in  animals,  482 

—  a  form  of  reason,  346,  423,  438 

— ,  basis  of    the  moral  sentiments,   140, 
263,  422-125,  452 

—  confounded  with  the  primary  emotions, 
413 

— ,  Inconsistent,  240,  429,  482,  483 
— ,  Modern  growth  of,  454 

—  representative  pain,  264,  346,  423-425, 
433 

— ,  Slow  development  of,  336,  347,  350, 

351,356 
— ,  Syllogism  of,  423 

—  vs.  instinct,  422 
Symphony,  437 

Sympodes,  74,  75,  77,  79,  96,  128 
Sympodial  branching  or  dichotomy,  72, 
76,  84,  86,  96 

—  development,  71,  86,  96,  228,  230 
Synergy,  171,  203,  232 

— ,  Social,  184,  204,  212,  214,  231,  236,  244, 

247,  260,  261,  266,  302 
Syngami,  315 
Synhedrin,  509 


604 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Synthesis  of  work,  171,  175 

Synthetic  creations  of  nature,  92,  97,  98, 

119,  170,  178,  208 
,  Table  of  the,  94 

—  work,  171 

Systems  of  nature,  174-179 

sociology,  12 

Systole,  107 

Taaroa,  382 

Tact,  490 

Tahiti,  382 

Talents  not  specialized,  498 

Talmud,  509 

Taming  of  animals,  61,  486 

Tarde,  Gabriel,  83,  98,  189,  243,  402,  522 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  161,  162,  524 

Tarnowsky,  B.,  388 

Tasmanians,  445 

Tasso,  Bernardo,  400 

Taste,  Brain  cortex  primarily  a  center  of, 

437 

— ,  esthetic,  Origin  of,  326 
— ,  — ,  Standard  of,  329,  330,  432 
— ,  Sense  of,  257,  261 
Tattooing,  382 
Taxis,  1 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  143. 
Tears,  139 
Teleclexis,  361 
Telegraph,  Invention  of  the,  471,  522-^525, 

536 

Teleology,  112,  115,  303,  465 
Telephone,  471,  523,  524 
Telescope,  521,  534,  539 
Telesis,  88, 114,  455 
— ,  Collective,  545 
— ,  Genesis  simulates,  114 
— ,  Individual,  545 
— ,  Social,  463,  548 
Telic  causes,  94,  97 

—  phenomena,  viii,  464,  465,  544,  545,  555 
Temperament,  398 

Tentacles,  478 
Tentation,  478,  484 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  quoted,  407 
Terpsichorean  ceremonies,  436 
Territorial  expansion,  196-199,  202,  239, 
491,  548 

—  sectarianism,  212 
Tertiary  man,  333,  334 

—  period,  38-40,  75,  196,  217,  218,  220,  333 
Thales,  505,  531 

Thalictrum  dioicum,  322 
Thallophytes,  318 
Thebes,  517 

Thenay,  Fossil  man  of,  334 
Theogonies,  528 
Theophrastus,  506,  532 
Theory, 169 


Theoteleology,  465 

Thermodynamics,  97,  168 

Thermology,  48 

Thermometer,  521 

Third  estate,  550 

Thomas,  W.  I.,  151 

Thompson,  J.  Arthur,  315 

Thomson,  William  (Lord  Kelvin),  540 

Thon,  O.,  quoted,  161 

Thought  a  product  of  creative  synthesis,  89 

psychic  structure,  176 

relation,  457 

—  as  an  agreeable  stimulus,  438-443 

—  conceived  as  an  independent  entity,  124 

—  developed  out  of  feeling,  128 
— ,  Era  of,  522 

— ,  Mental  steps  leading  to,  458 
— ,  Origin  of,  93,  136 

—  the  sum  of  all  forces,  468,  473 

—  vs.  language,  188,  189 
Throwing-sticks,  515 
Thucydides,  88 

Thiinen,  Johann  Heinrich  von,  48 

Time,  165,  497 

Timorodie,  382 

Tissues,  100,  175,  176,  537,  543 

— ,  Social,  274,  567 

Titian,  498 

Tocogenetic  relations,  96,  127 

Tocogonia,  307 

Tocological  classification,  70 

Tolstoi,  Count  Leon,  84,  379 

— , ,  quoted,  380 

Tonsils,  268 

Tools,  26,  28, 198,  513,  515,  516 

—  of  the  mind,  26,  28,  574 
Topinard,  Paul,  369 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  293,  515 

Torricelli,  Evangelista,  522,  535 

Totems,  201 

Tourgue,  415 

Trades  unionism,  451 

Transformation  of  the  environment,  16, 

21,  248-255,  277,  283,  402,  403,  512,  544 
Transforming  agencies,  141 ,  433 
Transmutation  of  species,  141, 224,  253, 542 
Traps,  Early  use  of,  26,  490 
Tree-ferns,  74,  77 
Trematodes,  306 
Treub,  Melchior,  74 
Triassic  period,  39,  40 
Trilobites,  76,  113,  478 
Tripod,  519 
Troubadours,  395 
Trout,  317 
Trudaine    de    Montigny,    Jean    Charles 

Philibert,  537 
True,  The,  88,  261,  418 
Truth  a  product  of  reason  applied  to  facts, 

508 


INDEX 


605 


Truth,  Definition  of,  505 

— ,  Discovery  of,  89,  438-443,  462 

— ,  Love  of,  263,  438 

—  the  natural  food  of  the  mind,  52 

—  vs.  utility,  88 
Tuckey,  J.  K.,  337 
Turanian  races,  520 
Turgot,  Robert  Jacques,  56 
Tylor,  Edward  B.,  53,  229 

— , ,  quoted,  343,  344 

Tyndall,  John,  540 

Ultra-normal  phenomena,  334 
Ultra-nutrition,  291,  308,  373 
Ultra-rational  sanction,  134,  143,  144,  419 
Uncouscious  cerebration,  442 

—  feeling,  122 

—  functions  of  the  body,  107 
— ,  Philosophy  of  the,  123,  252 

—  social  restraint,  14 

—  will,  122 

—  working  out  of  nature's  ends,  250,  254, 
302,  303,  340,  419,  449,  463,  545,  547 

Unicellular  organisms,  118,  267,  273 
Unintended  effects  in  evolution,  114, 126, 

250,  252,  254,  283,  308,  334,  476,  545,  547 
Unisexuality,  313 
Units,  Social,  351 
Universe,  Intelligent,  100 
— ,  Spiritual,  166 

Universities,  Early  founding  of,  537 
— ,  State,  574 

Unmoral  vs.  moral  and  immoral,  483 
Unsegmented  organisms,  274 
Unspecialized  types,  Persistence  of,  74, 

76,  78 

Uranology,  69 
Urkraft,  21 
Useful,  The,  88,  261 
Utilities,  512,  513,  526 
— ,  Perception  of,  492,  494,  524,  525 
Utility,  Ideal,  89 
— ,  Marginal,  163,  164 

—  measured  by  satisfaction,  131,  163,  279 

—  the  object  of  invention,  492 

—  vs.  necessity,  131,  265,  285,  390,  391, 
435 

safety,  263 

truth,  88 

Utopias,  83,  84,  380 
Uxoriousness,  411 

Vaccaro,  Michel-Ange,  213 

Vacuum,  544 

Vail,  Alfred,  523 

Value  measured  by  satisfaction,  279,  283 

—  of  position,  27,  528 

Van  Beneden,  P.  J.,  quoted,  315 
Van  de  Warker,  Ely,  quoted,  413 
Variability,  Male,  300,  322,  335 


Variation,  Fortuitous,  240-242, 253,480-501 

— ,  Non-advantageous,  500 

— ,  Organic,  141, 178, 179,  234,  243, 246, 309, 

311,  322,  324,  325,  328,  358 
Vaux,  Clotilde  de,  299,  400 
Veblen,  Thorstein,  129,  162,  245,  278,  363, 

485,  513 
Veddahs,  229 
Vegetarians,  482 
Velocity,  165 
Venerology,  69 
Verb,  Origin  of  the,  190 
Vermiform  appendage,  268 
Vernier,  521 

Vertebrate  structure,  125,  226 
Vesalius,  Andreas,  507,534 
Vestiges,  268,  269 
— ,  Social,  268,  269,  421 
Vibration,  94,  97,  173 
Vicarious  consumption,  363 

—  leisure,  363 

Vice,  131,  135,  420,  454 

Vico,  Giovanni  Battista,  56,  508 

Victoria,  Queen,  369,  453 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  36,  508,  521 

Vinson,  Auguste,  327 

Virgil,  335,  393 

Virgin  mother,  380 . 

—  reproduction,  306 
Virtue,  131,  345,  393,  402,  420 
Visualization  of  sound,  191,  192 
Vis  viva,  165-167 

Vital  phenomena,  94,  95 

Vitality,  101 

Vivid  series  of  psychic  phenomena,  424 

Vogue,  Vicomte  de,  538 

Volcanoes,  109 

Volition,  102, 160,  176 

Volta,  Alessandro,  523,  536 

Voltaic  pile,  536 

Voltaire,  Frai^ois  Marie  Arouet,  199, 508, 

509 

Voluntary  organizations,  192,  210,  547 
Vortex  motion,  121,  171,  544 
Vorticella,  121,  172 
Vries,  Hugo  de,  243,  499 

Wages,  Iron  law  of,  280,  282 

Wagner,  Wilhelm  Richard,  84,  437 

Walchia,  75 

Walcott,  Charles  D.,  38 

Walker,  Francis  A.,  283 

— ,  John,  523 

Wallace,  Alfred  Russel,  493,  538 

_ ,  quoted,  329,  497,  529,  530 

Walpole,  Sir  Robert,  60 
Walras,  Le"on,  7,  48, 145 
Want,  Abolition  of,  571 

—  as  the  generic  term  for  all  human  mo- 
tives, 143-,  264,  279,  283 


606 


PURE  SOCIOLOGY 


Want  due  to  restraint,  245 

— ,  Spiritual,  436 

Wants  constitute  the  social  forces,  102, 

110,  259,  261,  569 

— ,  efforts  and  satisfactions,  253,  524 
— ,  New,  277,  524 
— ,  Uniformity  of  human,  54 

—  vs.  needs,  435 

War,  Causes  and  social  effects  of,  30,  198, 

201,  203,  215,  238-240,  266,  268,  272,  376, 

416,  427,  428 
Warfare,  Civilized,  451 
Watches,  when  introduced,  521 
Water,  Early  use  of,  as  a  power,  18,  170, 

176,  177,  537 
Water-wheels,  170,  177 
Watson,  John,  quoted,  152 
Wayward,  Elimination  of  the,  132,  133, 

335 
Waywardness,  132,  133,  249,  419,  464,  501, 

506,548 
Wealth  consists  chiefly  in  the  elahoration 

of  raw  materials,  279 

—  due  chiefly  to  private  enterprise,  547 
— ,  Origin  of,  209,  277 

—  possible  only  under  the  state,  550 
— ,  Socialization  of,  280 

— ,  Transient  nature  of,  22,  23 

—  vs.  welfare,  283 

Weapons,  Primitive,  26, 198,  286,  352, 490, 

513,  515,  519 

Webb,  Sidney,  quoted,  558,  559 
Weber,  Wilhelm  Eduard,  523 
Weber-Fechner  law,  160 
Wedding  tour,  357 
Wedges,  Prinjitive  use  of,  516 
Weismann,  August,  114,  310,  311,  328, 500, 

502,  572 

— ,  — ,  quoted,  498,  499 
Weisrnannians,  504 
Welfare  vs.  wealth,  283 
Weltanschauung,  6,  300 
Weltschmerz,  245 
Westcott,  Edward  Noyes,  158 
Westring,  N.,  327 
Whately,  Richard,   Archbishop,   quoted, 

152,  153 

Wheelbarrow,  Invention  of  the,  522 
White,  Andrew  D.,  6 
Wife-beating,  350,  351 
Wilde,  Oscar,  92 
Will,  The,  95,  101,  142,  476 
— ,  — ,  Denial  of,  33,  142,  143 
— ,  — ,  of  Schopenhauer,  36,  136,  384,  436, 

475 

— ,  —  social,  144 
— ,  —  thinking,  472 
— ,  —  unconscious,  122 
Willis,  Mrs.  N.  P.,  297  ' 
Wilson,  Andrew,  509 


Wind,  Early  use  of,  as  a  power,  18,  170, 

513 

Windows,  First  use  of,  517,  518 
Winiarsky,  Leon,  145, 146,  166, 168 
— ,  — ,  quoted,  358,  389 
Wireless  telegraphy,  524 
Witchcraft,  349,  364,  365,  451,  475 
Witches,  369 

Witch  Hammer,  364,  365,  368 
Witham,  Henry,  73 
Woman  constitutes  the  human  race,  372, 

415 

— ,  Economic  dependence  of,  358,  377 
—  in  history,  364,  377 
— ,  Intuitive  thinking  of,  295,  415,  481 
— ,  Legal  discrimination  against,  368, 377 
— ,  Mysterious  power  imputed  to,  369 
— ,  Primitive,  332,  376 
— ,  Subjection  of,  300,  335.  345,  346,  361, 

364,  368,  369,  376,  401,  424,  464 
— ,  Sublime  attributes  of,  299,  414,  415 
— ,  The  future  of,  372 
— ,  The  word,  365,  368 
Women  as  rulers,  296,  369 
— ,  Beauty  not  primarily  attributed  to,  369 
— ,  Characteristic  mental  traits  of,  295, 

296,371 

— ,  Cruelty  of,  350 
— ,  Emancipation  of,  453 
— ,  Epithets  and  proverbs  derogatory  to, 

366,  369 

— ,  Inventions  made  by,  517 
— ,  Proneness  of,  to  deception,  485 
— ,  Respects  in  which  inferior  to  men,  293- 

296,  371 
— , superior  to  men,  299,  369,  372, 

414,  415 
— ,  Treatment  of,  by  savages,  347-350, 376, 

377 

Wonder,  108,  445 
Worcester,  Edward  Somerset,  Marquis  of, 

522 

Words,  Derivative,  190,  191 
— ,  Origin  of,  188-191 
Work,  see  Labor 
— ,  Synthesis  of,  171,  175. 
Workmanship,  Instinct  of,  129,  245,  270, 

438,  513 

World-views,  38, 142,  300,  301,  379 
Written  language,  26, 191,  192,  519,  531 
Wundt,  Wilhelm,  quoted,  79,  80 

Xenophon,  191 
X-rays,  524,  540 

Yahoo,  188 

Yao,  528 

Yellow  puccoon,  190 

Youmans,  Edward  L.,  68 

Young,  Thomas,  540 


INDEX 


607 


Yucca,  78 

Yuccasella  pronuba,  78 

Zadig,  508,  509 
— ,  Method  of,  508 
Zaneboni,  37 


Zeno,  21 

Zizania,  233 

Zodiac,  527 

Zoism,  101,  116,  119, 178 

Zoology,  76,  507,  542 

Zygosis,  310 


Outlines  of  Sociology 

By   LESTER   F.   WARD 

Author  of  "  Dynamic  Sociology"  etc.,  etc. 

Cloth  tamo  $2.00 


"The  work  is  just  what  has  been  needed  by  the  students  of  social 
science  and  by  that  larger  army  of  those  who  desire  a  clear  general 
knowledge  of  the  topic  without  being  obliged  to  go  through  massive 
compendiums  of  facts,  generalizations,  and  principles.  The  work  has 
had  the  rare  advantage  of  being  put  through  the  crucible  of  public 
delivery  and  discussion."  —  Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"Among  the  best  of  its  kind,  and  sure  to  be  accounted  a  notable 
contribution  to  the  great  discussion  now  going  on  over  social  subjects." 
—  Los  Angeles  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Ward  makes  a  clear  and  logical  presentation  of  his  subject, 
and  one  full  of  suggestion  and  broad  thought.  To  the  student  in  search 
of  a  guide  to  the  principles  of  sociology,  the  book  must  prove  valuable." 
Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  This  most  recent  work  is  marked  by  the  same  profound,  continu- 
ous, and  persistent  thought,  often  from  an  original  and  somewhat  indi- 
vidualized standpoint,  yet  absolutely  scientific  and  dispassionate,  and 
the  same  force  and  terseness  of  style  which  mark  the  pages  of  the 
author's  first  great  work  '  Dynamic  Sociology.'  "  —  Public  Opinion. 


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The  Principles  of  Sociology 

AN  ANALYSIS  OF  PHENOMENA  OF  ASSOCIATION  AND  OF  SOCIAL 

ORGANIZATION 

By  FRANKLIN  HENRY  QIDDINQS,  M.A. 

Professor  of  Sociology  in  Columbia  University 

Cloth  8vo  $3.00  net 

"  It  is  a  treatise  which  will  confirm  the  highest  expectations  of  those  who  have  ex- 
pected much  from  this  alert  observer  and  virile  thinker.  Beyond  a  reasonable  doubt,  the 
volume  is  the  ablest  and  most  thoroughly  satisfactory  treatise  on  the  subject  in  the  English 
language." — Literary  World. 

"  The  distinctive  merit  of  the  work  is  that  it  is  neither  economics  nor  history.  .  . .  He 
has  found  a  new  field  and  devoted  his  energies  to  its  exploration.  .  .  .  The  chapters  on 
Social  Population  and  on  Social  Constitution  are  among  the  best  in  the  book.  It  is  here 
that  the  method  of  Professor  Giddings  shows  itself  to  the  best  advantage.  The  problems 
of  anthropology  and  ethnology  are  also  fully  and  ably  handled.  Of  the  other  parts  I  like 
best  of  all  the  discussion  of  tradition  and  of  social  choices ;  on  these  topics  he  shows  the 
greatest  originality.  I  have  not  the  space  to  take  up  these  or  other  doctrines  in  detail,  nor 
would  such  work  be  of  much  value.  A  useful  book  must  be  read  to  be  understood." 

—  Professor  SIMON  N.  PATTEN,  in  Science. 


The  Elements  of  Sociology 

A  TEXT-BOOK  FOR  COLLEGES  AND  SCHOOLS 
By  FRANKLIN   HENRY  GIDDINGS,  M.A. 

Professor  of  Sociology  in  Columbia   University 
Cloth  8vo  $1.10  net 

"It  is  thoroughly  intelligent,  independent,  suggestive,  and  manifests  an  unaffected 
enthusiasm  for  social  progress,  and  on  the  whole  a  just  and  sober  apprehension  of  the 
conditions  and  essential  features  of  such  progress." 

—  Professor  H.  SlDGWlCK  in  The  Economic  Journal. 

"  Of  its  extreme  interest,  its  suggestiveness,  its  helpfulness  to  readers  to  whom  social 
questions  are  important,  but  who  have  not  time  or  inclination  for  special  study,  we  can 
bear  sincere  and  grateful  testimony."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  Professor  Giddings  impresses  the  reader  equally  by  his  independence  of  judgment 
and  by  his  thorough  mastery  of  every  subject  that  comes  into  his  view."  —  The  Churchman- 


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